


Of Desires, Liaisons and Sense of Duty

by SeptimaSevera



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Angmar War, Battle of Five Armies, Betrayal, Brother-Sister Relationships, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Mirkwood, One Night Stands, Post-Battle of Five Armies, Post-War of the Ring, Violence, War of the Ring, loss of sight, sense deprivation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-05-11 13:01:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 37,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5627506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeptimaSevera/pseuds/SeptimaSevera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Orodiel is late king Oropher's daughter and thus Thranduil's sister. Although the birthright of kingdom inheritance was not hers to possess, she stayed in Middle-Earth, although she was offered to sail to Valinor on many occasions; and found her happiness eventually in Greenwood the Great -<br/>Only to lose it, for every rise comes before the fall.<br/>Furthermore, events taking place immediately after the Last Alliance of Men and Elves caused her to be banished from Woodland Realm, and so she wandered about lands before ending in Imladris, the Last Homely House of Lord Elrond, where she took refuge. Many years later, Orodiel returned to her brother, and fled from him again because it was always easier than anything...<br/>Will she be able to secure a "happily ever after" for herself , even though her past shadows every step the princess takes? Are the elves really of pure hearts as they seem to us?<br/>This story follows major events from the Hobbit and later Lord of the Rings; Orodiel witnesses defeat of Sauron, the Battle of Five Armies, Elrond's council, and the War of Middle Earth. Yet the biggest strugle she must endure is one of her own heart.</p><p>Finally rewritten.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Scolopendra

**Author's Note:**

> First, the characters naturally talk in Sindarin or Quenya - should it not be stated otherwise - but I have left all the dialogues in Common Tongue so there shouldn't be any problem with translation. The same goes for Khuzdul, Black Speech et cetera.
> 
> Second, I really suck in writing of dialects and speech characteristic to respective races.
> 
> Third, the characters of Beleth, Túven, Taurhîn, Iauron, Iordor and Haldor that appear in this story were borrowed with permission from the story 'Skin Deep' by Epilachna as posted on http://www.fanfiction.net/. Any adventures these characters have in this story are of my own design and have no impact on Epilachna's past or future writing.
> 
> Fourth, it may seem that the story is rather composed of sketches than continuous storyline. Well, that was original design which I have sometimes been replenishing with additional passages. I hope it is readable.
> 
> And fifth, I do not own any character belonging to J. R. R. Tolkien and Peter Jackson.

 

### Chapter One: SCOLOPENDRA 

 

“My lady?” one of wardens almost whispered with surprise in his voice.

His was the only face she recognized. Although it felt like ages ago, the elleth decided to return to Limrond only mere eight hundred years later. She would swear that she was expecting anything; yet the arrows pointed at her were somewhat harsh and hostile greeting, indeed.

“Lady Orodiel?” the same voice asked again, more audibly now.

“Haldor?”

The tall fair-haired ellon stepped ahead of the group, watching her carefully, studying the face he had thought of never seeing again. Even dark strains of dried orc blood could not hide her almost royal features. “Lower your weapons,” he hissed to his companions then, and extended his arm to half-sitting person on ground.

She accepted gratefully, forgetting dry leaves tangled in her loosened braids, and drew her sword from the giant spider’s head with one swift move afterwards. “How long has the Greenwood been infested with these?” Orodiel eyed the monstrous creature with disgust. “There must be others; this one wouldn’t wander alone in these woods, at least not too far from the nest.”

“There used to be only small groups of them, and they were rarely seen, my lady. But our scouts have uncovered a nest larger than we have ever seen last month – but my lady, you are bleeding!”

“I barely feel it,” she almost retorted. But Orodiel lost too much blood to stand still, and soon strange feeling of coldness began creeping to her very soul.

\- - -

Eyelids felt heavy, and it took much of her will to open them – only to find herself surrounded by complete darkness. If she tried to sit, there would be a hand prepared to press her gently back onto mattress.

“Lie still, otherwise your stitches get ripped,” a female voice said half-audibly.

_Mother?_

_But she has been long gone._ “It cannot be,” Orodiel let out a desperate breath.

However, the complete darkness was becoming somewhat lighter with her every heartbeat, and even though there was no source of light nearby, she could make out some outlines of her surroundings now. Still, her hands reached to her eyes to make sure that there was no blindfold restraining her sight. Someone stopped her with yet another gentle touch.

“Why is it so dark here?” she asked at last, frowning with frustration. She found it hard to suppress her emotions which were taking freely over her body now.

“The light could harm you; even when you have only last bits of _Scolopendra_ venom in your veins.” This time it was clearly male who spoke tenderly –

– And Orodiel would recognize it anywhere. “My king…” she whispered, few tears escaping her eyes.

His lips touched her forehead lightly when he muttered, “You are finally safe, little one.”

\- - -

There was only a dim light coming from hearth that gave her whereabouts a definite shape. Orodiel spotted a dress hung over a chair carefully, and decided to get up off the bed while there was nobody to prevent her from recklessness that threatened to destroy her – at least exactly that had been belief of her relatives, for sure. When she made few rather awkward steps towards the chair, every part of her body ached; however, the sharp pain she had felt before dulled long ago.

Suddenly, the door opened, and she shivered involuntarily from the outside chill that embraced her mostly naked body. Maybe they assumed she was asleep, because she did not register knocking prior to someone’s entering her chambers.

“You should not get out of bed for another day at very least, my lady.”

“I cannot lie in that bed anymore, for I hate idleness,” Orodiel replied softly. If she was to regret her decision, so let it happen; but no power in the world could hold her confined to bed – it felt like mischievous child being grounded.

“As you wish, then,” the elf whispered, and helped her with dressing up. Originally, she only brought a cloak from seamstress to add it to already finished dress, but she had been also instructed by lady Beleth, the late king’s sister, that she should attend to lady Orodiel’s needs should she have any.

Orodiel winced only once: when the maiden was fastening her belt. Although elves usually healed quickly, serious wounds remained sensitive to touch and pressure for long.

“Are you well, my lady?” the maiden asked, eyeing the slender, rather weakened and thus fragile form of tall elven lady suspiciously, looking for any further sign of slightest discomfort.

“Yes,” she replied, putting on a cloak made of fine silk of pale gold with crimson lining.

The moment when the elven maid approached her with mithril circlet, she flinched. How long had she tried to hide her true bloodline from others, concealing it behind false stories – many times to no avail? And now, she suddenly became afraid to show it while among her own folk. “I am neither princess nor queen,” Orodiel uttered. _As I have never wanted to be one._

“But your status bears no shame, my lady,” the maiden opposed her.

“That may have been the truth prior to my banishment though.”

\- - -

Everyone bowed to her respectfully; yet so many stood still and stared, their tasks forgotten for that very moment. Did they remember her expulsion – of which the head councillor Túven had made a spectacular show? Many servants were young, she suspected the majority being less than thousand years old, so they could not know her at all; but there had always been something about her that betrayed her status. Something regal about her persona that gave them a cue of royalty standing – or walking – among them.

The throne room was empty. Nobody sat on the high seat surrounded by gigantic antlers; however, king’s great cloak – not dissimilar from Orodiel’s – lay spread there.

“The king has retired to his study, my lady,” somebody passing whispered to her; possibly Meludir, a handsome young ellon currently serving as warden.

… He was right, because that was where Orodiel finally found him. Although she knew the inevitable course of conversation that would follow, she did not flinch again. They had to talk rather sooner than later; the storm was coming.

So why try to hide from it?

“Enter,” he responded to her knocking, not lifting his head from a parchment lying before him. Yet when she came in, he left her standing before him for a while; which she endured patiently, holding her gaze down.

Then finally, the king stood in front of her, his height – impressive for an ellon – towering over Orodiel’s more delicate form. Hands behind his back, he paced around her, examining the elleth carefully. Although her intricate dress concealed the majority of bruises and scars, it felt like there was no escape from his look. She felt _exposed_.

He lifted her head witch gentle touch, looking directly into her eyes but saying nothing yet.

“Thranduil,” Orodiel whispered almost inaudibly. It was more of a plea than his name; she wished that he would tell her something soon, for the silence between them became deafening.

“You should have returned home long ago,” was all he had to say at first.

“But lord Túven commanded the wardens to shoot me on sight if I tried to.”

“He is our uncle, he would not –”

“By marriage,” she retorted. Every bit of her patience suddenly gone. “And you listened to him like a child eager to please his parent. Pray tell me, my dear brother, how long have you been sitting on the antler throne? Are you incapable to reign on your own? Or do you feel satisfaction in surrounding yourself with unscrupulous councillors?”

“The privilege of being a king is that he does not have to answer for his actions,” he said bitterly, releasing her chin.

“And yet he has to listen to his advisers should he seek a counsel,” she replied calmly, her voice sad. She turned to leave then, not waiting for king’s next words. Even though he tried to stop her by holding her forearm, Orodiel did not look at him. She could not bear further talking – not yet, anyways.

\- - -

The whistle was carried by the gentle wind while the pale light of morning sun had not yet fully reached the small opening before great portal to the elven kingdom of Woodland Realm. And only a few heartbeats after, majestic creature slowly approached. It was an elk – one of Greenwood’s herd, actually – and was eyeing the she-elf curiously, as if it asked what she wanted from him. Or maybe it sensed her inner thoughts that were torn between yearning for freedom and need of home. But where her true home was, she could not figure yet.

It came to her, making slow steps towards her extended arm, and bent its head with huge antlers, letting itself being caressed on forehead and accepting some sweet treats from her eventually.

 _Taurhîn_ , Orodiel thought, _noble Lord of the Wood, why is it so that you may roam these lands freely, yet I have to submit myself to others’ will?_ She patted the elk’s snout. When it did not flinch from her further touch, she eventually stroked its massive neck. “Could you share your freedom with me for today, please?” she whispered.

Taurhîn’s big innocent eyes shone. He waited patiently while the elleth climbed on his grand back, then he headed to the shadows under great trees.


	2. Serpents

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There comes the first flashback in the end of this chapter. Although I have not marked the individual acts with dates, it should be clear that - except for the Imladris part in italics - Orodiel's return took place after T. A. 1050 (when the Necromancer appeared in Dol Guldur) but before T. A. 1409 (when the Witch-king of Angmar invaded Arnor).  
> Since the mention of Thranduil fighting against 'the Great Serpents of North' belongs only to Jackson's movie canon, I cannot place it into the time scale properly (not mentioning the fact that dragons supposed to be unheard of in the Middle-Earth after the Battle of Last Alliance)...

### Chapter two: SERPENTS

“My king! Princess is gone!” the guardsman exclaimed.

“It cannot be,” the king whispered, his usual decorum gone. “Have you searched thoroughly?” he then asked like if it was just a false alarm and his sister would burst into the halls in every second.

Or would she abandon him again?

“When did she leave?”

“Nobody has seen her since yesterday morning, my king,” the guardsman could not but tell the truth.

“Yet you waited a day before deciding to inform me,” the Elvenking hissed. “I have commanded you to not leave her from your sight, yet she got away so easily!” He voice turned acid. “How am I supposed to rule a kingdom when everything turns out to be a mess?”

“I-I apologize, my king, that I have disappointed you – but we have assumed that the princess went to the Houses of Healing.”

Thranduil ordered her to report in Houses of Healing, for the problem with spider infestation grew bigger; and although he personally saw to selection of seasoned wardens who were to attend to cleaning of infested areas, sometimes there were certain accidents resulting in scratches and other minor injuries.

“You did,” the king nodded. “And you will be punished befitting your incompetence.”

“Yes, my lord,” the ellon bowed his head.

“But first, find her,” he ordered, turned on his heels and left.

He burst to her private quarters first. When he saw that nothing was amiss – not even her armour – he prayed to Eru for Orodiel’s protection. She could not wander far without donning at least proper riding clothes and some provisions. Only thing the king did not find was her bow and quiver.

“Haldan,” he called to the captain of his guards, telling him, “summon eight of your best men and send them into the woods. I myself will scout the northern part with Adan and Ainion. She could not get far.” _She better should not,_ he thought bitterly.

“As you command, my lord,” Haldan replied, leaving to carry out his task.

They left in minutes, not noticing at first that the Lord of Elks was nowhere to find…

\- - -

They rode almost all day before Taurhîn finally emerged from wild forest into hidden gardens. There were few trees with branches bent into fantastic shapes under which deer grazed on fresh juicy grass. There were many ancient statues Orodiel vaguely remembered, although hundreds of years passed since she set her foot onto the Gardens of Lovers. The elk stopped before majestic hollow tree, a gazebo which triggered old memories –

And they came to her mind with renewed vigour.

Orodiel dismounted. Carrefully, she entered the heart tree and stood before Lady Lassiel. As if fearing that the statue could crumble under her gentle touch, she at first hesitated with outstretched hand mid-air.

“Naneth,” she mumbled, falling to her knees. “If only you could help me endure the pain of this world.” She found herself overwhelmed, and tears sprung from her eyes. After a moment, she lamented, not expecting any answers, though.

_He has changed and become more distant. I understand him no more… How comes it is still your son, Lassiel?_

It became dark before long, yet the princess refused to move. When the lamps finally illuminated the secret path through the gardens, Orodiel finally turned – and she saw completely different images in her head. It was here where _love of her life_ and she committed to each other fully, after all…

The next morning, princess walked further into the gardens. As she neared the waterfalls which she had desired to visit for so long, the ever following elk urged her to hurry as the animal sensed water.

\- - -

“Any recent riders?” Ainion called up to the warden watch posted high in trees as the forest elks slowed down from their canter.

“One, my lords,” a female voice called back, “I dare say a day ago. He headed off the road and into the woods.”

“Where?” the king asked.

“That way,” red-haired she-elf climbed to lower branches and pointed in asked direction.

“Why did you not stop her?”

“He came from direction of the King’s Halls, so we assumed –” another elf was cut mid-sentence when he spotted Thranduil. “My lord,” he gasped, almost falling from their perch among upper branches.

Adan, master-at-arms, recognized the two of wardens as apprentices. “Foolish youth, where is your master?” he gritted through his clenched teeth.

But the king paid them no mind anymore. His ears heard a distant rumble of waterfall coming from the general direction that the warden pointed. All of sudden, the realization hit him – he knew exactly where his sister went.

\- - -

Taurhîn was grazing on fresh grass somewhere behind her. Orodiel sat on the edge of a cliff above the waterfalls, staring into distance, until she heard rustling of leaves –

She stood, pointing an arrow into foliage surrounding her spot –

Only to bend it down immediately, because it was an elf emerging from the wood, not an Orc.

“At least you have had enough sense to arm yourself,” heavy breath escaped the rider.

“Thranduil?” Orodiel looked confused.

He dismounted his ride, came to her in few swift steps, and embraced her like his life depended on it. “Why did you not inform me prior to your sudden disappearance? We thought… I thought that you ran off; that I have lost you again,” he murmured into her hair, still not pulling from the elleth.

“I am so sorry,” she whispered, single tear escaping her eye.

When he finally let go of her and took in their surroundings, he did not recognize it there at first, until it dawned on him – “You still mourn him,” he breathed out.

“Yes.”

 _His name was Valdaglerion_. Her betrothed who fell among many others in Dagorlad. Thranduil witnessed his end along their father’s. As did she, because – according to her words – there was no power in all the Middle-Earth to stop her from following them to battle, although king Oropher forbade it strictly. These waterfalls near enchanted gardens had been the lovers’ little sanctuary; however, she could not bury him here, no matter how she wanted: his body had never been recovered.

_Greenwood had suffered from loss far greater than any other in the Battle of the Last Alliance. Only a handful elves of the Woodland Realm survived the slaughter; king’s son returned with roughly a third of the army that had marched to war. There were too many left behind to slowly decay on the Dead Marshes. Thranduil, not knowing about his sister’s true whereabouts, had been bewildered learning that she had joined healers and attended to wounded…_

“Your Majesty!” Adan shouted out of breath, his mount emerging from the thick green foliage, and drew him back to reality. The ellon was clearly chasing after him, as the king had ridden ahead of the group.

“Come, we must return,” Thranduil said.

\- - -

“You might consider leaving for Undying Lands an option, sister, a way out from your misery, for I shall not keep you in this forsaken land, that would be most selfish,” he murmured that evening on balcony where she was lying on chaise longue, stargazing. The king joined her; with a sigh, he sat beside her. For once, his features relaxed a bit and Orodiel saw her brother she had known so long ago once again. “When I spotted you there earlier today,” he continued, “I finally saw your pain – how could I be so blind to it? Maybe Valar would be merciful and they will reunite you with him in Valinor once again.”

“My time has yet to come, my lord,” she replied almost inaudibly.

“And why is that?” he asked gently.

“Because… my destiny has been tightly bound with Middle-Earth – it has been foretold.”

“Did Elrond Peredhel…?”

“Him and others, too.” Before Thranduil could ask further, she continued, speaking almost inaudibly. “Darkness roots deep inside me. I would like to say that I hate killing, but I would lie. I became afraid of myself; thus I rather surrendered my birth right – I was even willing to leave for Valinor then – yet Túven did not find it sufficient. Instead he found a cunning way to feed the fear in myself…” her voice trailed off.

He raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, letting her words sink in. At least she did not attempt to hide her fear from him, for he could sense it in her whispering.

Orodiel’s caress on his left cheek was light as a feather –

Yet he could not feel it anymore because a ghastly wound never healed properly; sensitivity never returned. Not that it could; burns left by dragon fire were beyond healers’ abilities. Now the illusion which Thranduil mastered and cherished for so long suddenly faded away. Scarred flesh and blinded eye were revealed to her – it was something he never wanted to share with her; to tell her that the dragon from Gundabad had marked the king forever while claiming the queen’s life.

“ _Goheno nin,_ ” she muttered at last. She remembered the moment she saw him for the first time, in Imladris. “Forgive me my selfishness; I should have come sooner. Perhaps I could lift the burden from your shoulders and bear it in your stead.” As if to mark her words, the ugly scars started to climb up her hand and forearm; however, it was just another powerful illusion although it felt real under his fingers, and he knew it because the Elvenking was far beyond help.

“I believe there is better – and wiser – use of that mighty gift Valar blessed you with, little one. So please, do not waste it on me.”

“There sure is,” Orodiel nodded. “But you are the only family left. And my king nonetheless.”

Suddenly, Thranduil rose with grim expression on his face; it seemed as if he became distant to her again. His voice was icy. “Pray tell me, since when do you mistake duty for sisterly love?”

She remained silent for a while, standing up from the chaise longue. Only then she looked directly into his eyes, answering with the same coldness in her voice: “Since the exact moment certain person does not recognize his own blood anymore.” And although she tried very hard, she lost the inner fight, and silver teardrops started running down her pale cheeks. “Please… Maybe you will forgive me one day,” she managed to say after a moment of utter silence.

The king only watched her as she walked to the door.

“I shall take the year-long watch on south-east border at first light tomorrow morning, so you would not have to see me for some time,” she turned to him with sad expression before leaving the terrace. And he knew he would not stop her then.

\- - -

_“Thranduil!”_

_Hasty steps echoed through silenced Imladris. It could be barely an hour since a small party of elves crossed its borders, yet grave news they were carrying spread like a wildfire –_

_“THRANDUIL!”_

_Second time, it sounded more like a shriek of fear._

_A figure ran, crossing bridges and stone steps; her bright-coloured dress swirling furiously around her ankles. Few elves stood aside when she passed by, yet none attempted in stopping her._

_“Thranduil…”_

_Third time it was barely a whisper when an elleth bursted into darkened chamber and fell on her knees before an only bed in the room. An unconscious male body lay there, his pale blonde hair spread around his head like a crown. He seemed being in peaceful sleep –_

_She immediately took his left hand into hers. Only then she noticed fresh linen bandages covering it, and tears started to fall freely from her beautiful eyes. “That cannot be…” she whimpered._

_Lord Elrond approached her slowly, and lay his palm on her bare shoulder. “Lady Orodiel,” he murmured soothingly._

_It took an eternity before she turned to him, her sight blurred with sadness. “Am I too late?” An urgent question burned on the tip of her tongue._

_Elrond could only shake his head before he motioned to Lindir, his assistant, to lead the poor elleth out of there, for the patient needed rest. Although his healing abilities were clearly insufficient against extensive injury inflicted by fire-breathers, strange thing was to happen the following day._

_Lady Celebrían, accompanying her husband on his way to check on still unconscious patient, thought she heard a hushed voice coming from the chamber, and she immediately informed him. Yet neither of them could be prepared for what they witnessed upon their arrival – inside they found Orodiel standing beside her brother, chanting ancient spell while ugly burns spread on her own uncovered creamy skin._

_They could not sever the bond since it would only cause more damage; yet watching the Mirkwood princess suffer by her own choice quickly became unbearable –_

_– Until she collapsed on the floor._

_Orodiel, although unable to fully relieve Thranduil from painful wounds, at least achieved in moderating their severity. When Lord Elrond removed soiled bandages, he noticed that some of the scars on his arm and left side of chest were reduced; however, to his horror, they now stained Orodiel’s skin. Both Celebrían and he could only comfort her when the burns hurt almost unbearably._

\- - -

As she had claimed earlier, Orodiel was now patrolling south-east border of the realm. It provided her with plenty of time to think, for her watch turned up to be mostly peaceful.

She thought about many things, mostly trivial ones. Yet the most important to consider was an invitation to join the White Council, established between the elves and Istari who recently came to Middle-Earth. Why did Lady Galadriel of Lórien nominate her at all?


	3. Siege

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The year is T. A. 1409, and Orodiel leaves Greenwood to meet the White Council in Imladris. Yet terrible things are about to happen - war is upon Arnor. Although Orodiel promised that she would not participate in any foreign conflict, Thranduil will eventually have to deal with the fact that he may not see her again for a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Though I am not familiar with the Angmar War at all (and besides, the whole thing is non-canon), after thinking about Orodiel's opportunities of witnessing battles - and their lack in the Rhovanion area when considering Tolkien's notes - I simply could not resist the idea of her joining the forces charging upon Witch-King's capital of Carn Dum. Eventually, she serves only as a healer in T. A. 1910 when the siege presumably took place...  
> Also, I have complicated my own life with Golrfindel/Orodiel relationship.

### Chapter three: SIEGE

Under the pretence of the Council meeting, Orodiel took off for Imladris. A hundred years ago, alarming news reached her ears in Lothlórien: it was said that the Witch-King, former servant of Sauron, fled north of Hithaeglir where he founded Angmar, his own kingdom. Fear and rumours spread through realms of men and elves alike that he could invade Arnor anytime – yet since nothing happened for decades, people started to forget more easily –

_Until 1409 of the Third Age._

She intended to cross the High Pass in Misty Mountains; but before that, Orodiel had to insist on return of her two companions to Woodland. “This is my journey to take, mellyn,” she sighed, sitting in front of little warming fire they lighted to drive away chill on the foothills. “I need you to stay with the King.”

“But lady Orodiel,” one of them protested, “we are to protect you and see to your safe arrival to Imladris and back.”

“By whose command?”

“The King’s own…” The younger ellon – Feredir – lowered his gaze.

“Very well, then.” She thought for a moment before she continued. “I can protect myself quite enough, I think,” she smirked. “But I cannot keep an eye on two unseasoned ellyn.” – Did they just look ashamed? – “Do not give me those eyes, both of you. I know about your recent end of apprenticeship. Moreover, you never left the Greendwood,” Orodiel turned to the younger one; “and he,” she turned to the other, “travelled to Lothlórien with me once, a hundred years ago, although he never went anywhere else since. I shall never understand why, of all the subjects in our kingdom, the King had to choose namely you two as my companions.” She let out a long sigh. “Surely there are many better opportunities to gain experience than to cross the mountains into lands constantly threatened by powerful enemy.”

Maybe they felt as two reprimanded mischievous elflings before her, but they could not deny their admiration for the princess. Many apprentices dreamed of her as of an idol, these two surely were not only ones in whole Realm to do so.

“Of course king’s commands stand above all, I cannot deny him that…” Suddenly, she could not think about any clever argument. What would scare those two ellyn away? The pass was narrow, maybe she would have to make it through on foot. Orodiel could not spare any of her attention for their sake; she will have to concentrate on the tracks in front of her. “What if I had another proposal for you?” she suggested after long moment of silence.

“What proposal?” the older elf asked cautiously. His name was Reviôn.

“On the dawn, Feredir will return to the King’s Halls while you will accompany me to Imladris.”

“But why me, my princess?”

“Because Thranduil’s command is only effective within his realm. Out here, my word stands above all,” she snapped.

\- - -

“My lord Elrond,” dark-haired elf would be hovering nervously if he had not learned to hide his impatience under look of decorum.

“Yes, Lindir?” his master’s voice sounded weary.

“I only wished to remind you that we await the arrival of Lady Orodiel of Greenwood today.”

“Of course.”

\- - -

A sound of elk’s hooves resonated on the courtyard. Elven woman clad in riding coat hiding her light armour dismounted, followed in suit by her single escort.

“Be mostly welcome in Imladris again, Lady Orodiel,” a musical female voice said.

Orodiel returned her greeting by touching her heart and bowing her head slightly. “Lady Celebrían,” she murmured, “may I introduce Reviôn, son of Faerôn? He has accompanied me on my journey.”

“Yes. We have already met, I believe,” lady of the household smiled.

“Where is Lord Elrond if I may ask?”

“I am here. And I can see that you have brought one of famous Greenwood beasts with you,” he said from above them. He stood at the top of stairs, a soft smile planted on his otherwise sombre face.

The animal snorted in slight disapproval.

“Taurhînion is neither famous nor a beast, my lord. He is still very young and yet has not seen any battle – if you are referring to various legends about wood-elves riding recklessly into fight on elks. Those are folk tales, you shall not believe everything what people say, for they tend to embellish their stories and thus lie.”

\- - -

The visit of Mirkwood princess turned out to be longer than she led her brother to expect. Of course King Thranduil was furious when Feredir appeared at the gates. He raged even more when the poor ellon told him everything that his lady said that cursed evening before crossing the Misty Mountains. Sincerely, if she thought that his kingly commands could only reach the realm’s borders, she had to be reminded of who was the monarch here.

His short temper manifested yet again when Reviôn arrived to his doorstep a month or so later…

“I have lived under the impression that I have ordered you to not leave her side no matter the circumstances, both of you!” the Elvenking raised his otherwise cold voice, towering over two ellyn who obviously were intimidated by his natural physical height. They flinched from his every single word he spat.

Before he started fuming over their incompetence, he had summoned Feredir, too. None of them should escape his wrath, he decided.

“Yet instead of shadowing her every step, you two, incapable of following my simple order, now stand before me, barehanded and most importantly: without my impetuous sister whom I should have locked in dungeon instead of allowing her to travel to Imladris! Tell me, you _orc lovers_ , how is it even possible?”

\- - -

“You Wood Elves are less wise and more dangerous than your kin. Why should I allow one of you join the White Council?” Saruman the White pondered.

There were many people sitting around the table under the star sky. Aside from Saruman, only two other of Istari were present, though five of them came to the Middle-Earth. One was clad in grey robes and elves called him Mithrandir; the third Istari came by name Radagast the Brown. Of elves there were Lady Galadriel, her husband Celeborn, Lord Elrond, his chief counsellor Erestor, Círdan the Shipwright, Glorfindel, and princess of Mirkwood.

“You are not only one who despises us, my lord,” Orodiel muttered in Common Tongue. “When Sauron gave three rings of power to the elves, King Oropher did not receive one, although his kingdom was vast in those days. No, they went to Galadriel of Lothlórien, Elrond of Imladris and Círdan of Lindon instead.”

“You are mistaken, my lady,” Saruman said. “I do not despise you. I simply do not acknowledge you as worth the attention you are currently enjoying. You are hiding behind closed doors of your caverns; and your king does not take interest in foreign affairs – both his peacockery and presumed superiority demonstrate it perfectly.”

“Perhaps you should have not invited me here, then,” she shrugged. “Drag me here all the way from my comfortable shelter I lock myself in to escape the world.” A sound of mockery creeped into her words.

 _Enough of insults for today_ , Galadriel’s voice resonated inside Orodiel’s head.

 _As you wish, my lady_ , she stole a glance towards the Lady of Light.

“We have other pressing matters to discuss today, my lords,” Galadriel then spoke aloud. “How shall we intervene in the Witch-King’s ivasion into Arnor?”

“This is no ordinary war council, my lady,” Saruman shifted his attention from Orodiel to Galadriel.

“Indeed it is, I am afraid,” Lord Celeborn said.

“Then we lack emissaries of the party directly involved, it seems,” Saruman rapped out.

“The kingdom of Men is not the only one to be endangered by Angmar’s foray. He has done it on purpose since it lies in his way to conquer all of Eriador; Imladris and Lindon not being an exception,” princess of Greenwood pointed out.

“Thank you for stating the obvious, my lady.” Saruman’s dark eyes threw daggers on her.

Orodiel took in a breath to retort something to him, yet another Galadriel’s intrusion into her thoughts stopped her from her intentions. _We have not invited you here to make a fool of yourself, Orodiel Oropheriell. We have to plan a strike – unless we want these lands to become Angmar expansion shortly._

_What do you suggest then, my lady?_

_To think like a strategist, not bicker like a harridan._

_But I am not a strategist –_

“Yes, you are,” Galadriel smiled.

\- - -

“Why do you not appreciate words of wisdom, my lady?” Glorfindel cornered her in unguarded moment so she found herself pinned to the wall by his rather impressive frame in dimly lit corridor. “Is that some kind of Sindarin pride that prevents you from listening to the White Wizard’s counsel? Do you perhaps consider yourself above him?”

“Says the one who with casual attitude quietly witnessed his kin torturing another elf,” Orodiel retorted. “I do not understand why Valar sent you back to Middle-Earth; you should have remained in Mandos.”

“Here it is,” he grinned triumphantly, “the stubbornness so characteristic to that little lamb which Gondolindrim caught sneaking into Hidden Kingdom once.” He pushed her even further against the wooden wall with his body until his body heat seeped through the fabric of her dress to her supposedly cold heart.

“I am no lamb,” she protested, pushing him away slightly.

Yet the Noldo would not be rebuffed so easily. “No, you are not,” he agreed. “You resemble more of a wolf in sheep-skin now, my dear princess. Although you may not be aware of the fact that your fangs can bury themselves even deeper; that you can be deadly should you wish that.”

“I am what you created – forged by cruelty of Noldor,” she hissed.

“That is not it,” he pretended to frown in frustration. “My kin simply used you, I do not deny it; but there has always been certain potential in you, Lady Orodiel.” Glorfindel then whispered to her ear: “Admit it – you are strangely drawn to things others reject as wrong.”

“It seems you possess vast knowledge of one’s character, poor Lord Glorfindel… How could I appraise ellyn from the House of the Golden Flower so badly?” she asked him mockingly. “And here I thought you would never lower yourself to make ever so subtle advances to modest maid.”

He laughed heartily. “Pray tell me, my lady, since when you consider yourself modest? I would say you are capable of licentiousness, too,” he murmured.

“Were you such a cocky bastard before your fall?”

Glorfindel only smirked, then bent to graze his lips gently against her collarbone. When she did not protest, he proceeded to kiss her neck by which he definitely coaxed a soft moan from her. A moment after that, his ministrations shifted towards her mouth, depriving her of both air and resistance eventually. Orodiel felt her knees weaken, yet his strong embrace prevented her from falling.

First morning light was to find them in shared bed afterwards. Although she lacked a memory of how they got there the last night, Orodiel now sat up with her back turned towards Glorfindel lying naked under her bedsheets. “Oh, dearest Eru, let me not make the same mistake twice,” she mumbled under her breath when she realized what had happened.

Instead of saying anything, the ellon only put his hand on her bare shoulder before he got out of bed and started putting on his clothes, leaving a merciful silence between them; however, compunction had already reigned her thoughts.

When he closed the door behind him, Glorfindel almost ran into Erestor, Elrond’s advisor.

“My lord Elrond requests immediate presence of Lady Orodiel,” he said.

“I am afraid she does not feel very well this morning, Erestor,” Glorfindel muttered. “I have escorted the lady to her quarters already; I believe she needs a rest.”

Yet to rest was the last thing she would want to do now when she could not rebuff her intrusive conscience any longer. She began to reprimand herself internally for sudden weakness that took over her actions yesterday. Orodiel’s sureness of her immunity to desires of any sort – until the moment he pinned her to the wall – faded as a burnt candle. _Could such a primitive instinct take hold of her body against her will?_

“Perhaps a healer should attend to her?” she heard Erestor ask.

“Feel free to ask her yourself,” the elven lord replied curtly, pointing towards the door. He then left without another word.

 _You really are charming, my lord,_ she grimaced wryly. _May Valar curse me should I befall him ever again._ She could beg Manwë for forgiveness, yet the leader of Ainur would say nothing. Even Varda would keep silent in her pity. Yet one existed who would listen to her prayers… _May Mandos have no mercy with my soul should I break my promise and be misled from the true path… But – where does this journey end?_

\- - -

Almost a year later, the elves of Rivendell attempted to siege the stronghold of Carn Dûm, built over ruins of ancient fortress of Morgoth. The Council prepared a plan comprising Glorfindel and Elrond leading a charge on the capital of Angmar in attempt to give Arnor time to recover. It lay deep north, in the mountains, and enemy knew about their intention for quite a long time. However, although Angmar prepared for the attack, its first wave ended in victory of the elves.

Yet later, when it appeared that Carn Dûm would fall to elves, armies of Trolls joined the enemy and elves were at last defeated.

Orodiel did not fight. Although she participated on planning the attack and joined the army, she stayed in healer’s tents preparing to arrival of many wounded. Furthermore, to her belief, remaining out of enemy’s sight was crucial for not drawing an unwanted attention towards the eastern elven realm – not that she had time for thinking about brother’s opinion of her.

“You should not exhaust yourself, my lady,” Elrond muttered when he saw her pale face, smears of blood adorning her bare hands and clothes. She came to attend to his wounds into his own tent that evening.

“Do not worry,” she replied while dressing his cleaned minor injuries, “there is no need for ancient magic here, this is not dragon fire I am fighting against.” She knew exactly what he was referring to. But she did not say a word, concentrating on finishing the dressing.

He clasped her hand gently, locking Orodiel’s eyes with his. “Would you not sacrifice your comfort for your patient’s survival?” Elrond asked. Yet he meant it to lighten her seriousness.

“That depends on circumstances, my lord,” she whispered. “However, this is war; and unfortunately, many of fine warriors are beyond saving; they have to die eventually. I would not attempt to bring dead into life – that would cost me life of my own, and outcome would remain ambiguous. I would not risk it so recklessly.”

“Yet I should have prevented you from coming here; I cannot bear a thought of explaining your brother why you perished, should ill fate meet you on the battlefield –”

“That is not to happen yet,” she interrupted. “Now if you would excuse me…” She bowed, exited the tent and disappeared into the night where more wounded waited for skilled healers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not continue with developing her character further in time period of T. A. 1410 - T. A. 1975 (the Battle of Fornost). Maybe she helped the refugees of Dúnedain, who knows?  
> In next chapter, though, Orodiel will return to Mirkwood - and it will take place well after T. A. 2000.


	4. Starlight

### Chapter four: STARLIGHT

 _Mereth Nuin Giliath,_ the Feast of Starlight, was nearing, and the harvest preceding the festivities themselves was in full swing. Orodiel decided to help, and thus spent many days on farmlands lying south from Limrond; with Silvan and Sindarin elves alike. Finally, she could breathe freely, the constricting feeling of King’s Halls gone for a while. Maybe she eventually let her alertness to drop, though; she did not spent first few years after the Angmar War inside the caves much; she eventually rode north to help Dúnedain to cope with immediate impacts of the conflict with Angmar, and thus spent many years with mortals. After her return, the king barely rode out, so their encounters were scarce – which was suitable for both parties involved, no doubt. They actively avoided each other; he still could not overcome his wrath because he did not forgive her that she got involved in other people’s war centuries ago.

Yet there was something wrong; and she could sense it in her heart. Darkness lay upon the southern region of Greenwood the Great, and it was evident even more when she returned. It slowly spread through the forest, biting off piece by piece from the elven kingdom, pushing it northward, and transforming it into dangerous place where deadly creatures dwelled. Many elves decided to better leave for Grey Havens.

People started referring to the greatest Rhovanion forest as to Mirkwood when they talked about the Woodland Realm.

When Sindar first arrived, king Oropher established Amon Lanc in forest’s southern parts as capital of his land. However, Amon Lanc was abandoned one day and left to ruins, to be renamed later – it was known as Dol Guldur now. Was it mere coincidence that horrid creatures, orcs and dark spells nested there? It would make sense perfectly, only if she knew –

Orodiel’s dark thoughts were interrupted by her fellow co-worker, Eruanna. “My lady, are you feeling unwell?” she asked with concern.

“Quite on the contrary, _mellon_ ; I am alright, I assure you,” she replied with fake easiness.

Eruanna shrugged, saying: “Your face is unusually pale, my lady –”

“Shhh!” Orodiel cut the she-elf off as she registered something.

And there it was again: she heard a strange sound, not dissimilar from owl hooting.

“Eruanna, retreat with other unarmed workers to safety. Quick,” king’s sister hissed. Yet when the elleth resisted, she said more forcefully: “Go, otherwise I will make you, and you will not like it.” She then turned and nodded to the warden staying to her left – he too heard the sounds coming from nearby trees.

Wardens grabbed their weapons and started out to the forest shadows. But it was not earlier than the first elven foot set down between the trees that a sharp thump echoed as an arrow stuck into tree trunk.

“ _Yrch_ ,” someone uttered, and thus confirmed her thoughts.

_Scouting filth indeed._

There they were: not more than thirty foul creatures, ugly and smelly, struggling through the nearby dense bushes as if they were looking for something. They could arrive to gather some food, or hunt for game as forests used to be full of it. They had to be aware of elvish presence around their current position all along; but still, they did not attack them openly. Were they setting an ambush for them? – And if so, what ambush?

Another arrow flew past them, answered by elvish salvo.

\- - -

They brought orcs onto one pile on the clearing. The elves shot entire pack, and they lost no one.

Young warden named Maeron was badly injured, though. Orodiel bent over him; he had gotten too close to the enemy and his thigh had been slashed by single swing of rusty orc blade. She suspected it was serious but survivable since she first saw it from distance; however, examining it closely, preliminary check indicated grave news.  Blood was still seeping through the cloth bandage.

“Let me inspect the wound,” she pleaded, her hands shaky from the remnant of adrenalin still rushing through her bloodstream.

“No, my lady,” the ellon muttered heavily, caressing her cheek and thus smearing a blotch of black enemy blood. He paled, and his fingers became colder with every heartbeat. He also tried to push her other hand away, but could not reach it.

“I can help you, there is –” she suddenly stopped. She knew too well the look Maeron gave her at that moment. And she also recognized arterial bleeding when she saw it. With every passing moment, he slowly slipped beyond reach of her healing skills.

And she had to respect his last wish, too. Her inner warrior struggled with healer. As the former, she understood that he wanted to maintain his dignity in death; as latter, however, she made a commitment to at least try to save him.

“You will see your brother in short time, Maeron. That I promise you,” Orodiel said at last, defeated.

“I know I will. He awaits my arrival in the Halls of Mandos.” A faint smile lit up his face.

Shortly after, the ellon’s eyes became glassy.

Orodiel sat back on her heels, a distant look reigning her facial features. Did she regret her decision to honour Maeron’s desire? Or did she remember one of those battles she had fought for their survival as a race? She felt someone’s hand on her shoulder, but did not flinch.

“You did everything you could,” male voice said softly.

“And yet it was merely enough, Legolas,” she replied, expressing great sadness through those simple words. And staring at her bloodied hands, she wondered: _What if…?_ She and Meldarion, Maeron’s elder brother, shared a history. They shared loyalty and friendship. Moreover, Meldarion too died in her arms more than two millenia ago.

Then, as if to herself, Orodiel mumbled farewell to the slain.

\- - -

An archery contest was related to _Mereth_ _Nuin_ _Giliath_. When the king, accompanied by beautiful elleth of his choice – as was a tradition –, highborn lords and ladies took their respective seats on terraces, senior member of committee turned to them. “Has my king chosen his champion for today’s contest?” he asked politely.

“I have, indeed,” Thranduil replied between sipping his wine.

“And who would that be, if I may ask?” the judge said, even though they all knew who would stand for their king in the contest.

“Legolas Thranduilion.”

A tall, fair-haired ellon stepped forward when named; he had been standing to his father’s right all along. The judge nodded and bowed, facing king’s female companion now. “My lady, have you chosen your champion as well?”

The fair elleth rose from her chair and took few steps to balustrade. Leaning against the railing, she smiled before she replied softly: “I wish to name Orodiel Oropheriell as my champion contestant, for Aratar know she is my favourite.” She almost chuckled, as if there was some inner joke hidden that amused her greatly.

Lady Orodiel, sitting quiet and detached from the group of Sindarin nobles until she heard her name, raised her chin before she turned her gaze in king’s direction with question in her pale blue eyes. Thranduil gave a slight nod of approval. She rose then, and many elves thought she would refuse the challenge and walk away, but the princess surprised them with acceptance instead.

“Excellent choice, my lady,” judge agreed and bowed again.

\- - -

“Perhaps my father should rather choose you as his champion, aunt; he then could place his bet on you without a heavy heart,” Legolas whispered to her ear just before he mounted an approaching elk. This was supposed to be the last event of the contest, and he was losing against her. If he maintained his balance and aim at moving target while the animal under his feet cantered, he still could have chance to win and thus beat her –

But that would come only if she did not climb elk’s sturdy neck and onto its robust antlers; exactly which she did when the third round came. She felt like some thrill-seeking youngster again. Although it was ages since Orodiel last did something that reckless as to rely solely on animal’s strength, she still managed to shoot down Legolas’s arrow. The sound of splitting wood was entirely different from shattering of clay pigeon. The deed left quite an impression on the crowd – and that exactly mattered in this contest, for in case committee was unable to pick a winner, audience would vote.

They were given standing ovation when both elks halted and the rivals approached the judge who held both arrows: one split and the other undamaged.

\- - -

_“Congratulations, Huntress, for the title is righteously yours,” the King’s female companion giggled, placing a cloak made of leaves on her shoulders before King himself came forward._

_“In appreciation of your extraordinary skills with bow, I name you the Queen of the Feast, my lady.” Thranduil then crowned her with a circlet made of twigs and wild berries, and all of the elves present bowed to her when she rose from her knee. She could not remember whether she noticed some odd expression, hostility towards her even, in the King’s face. Did he hide his disapproval for this one special occasion, perhaps? –_

“Wine, my lady?” an ellon with a jug came to her, and thus disturbed the line of her thoughts.

But Orodiel blocked her chalice with hand, sighing: “Some water would serve me better, but thank you. I have not developed same taste for wine as my brother, it seems.” She eyed the manservant warily.

“As you command,” he bowed slightly and left –

– Only to be replaced by the Elvenking himself. “Enjoying a moment for yourself, are we, my dear sister?” he asked jovially.

“Is king expecting me to drink myself under the table?” she teased him, but did not make a move towards her still half-filled chalice of heavy dark red Dorwinion wine. It was thick as an oxblood and she did not like its taste.

“No, I think not. Yet I expected you to enjoy yourself – and you have not fulfilled my expectations by a tenth, I fear.” He mocked her with false concern on his face.

“Please, do not bother with me, Thranduil,” her voice gained seriousness. “You should concern your majesty with that pretty elleth you have chosen as your companion for this year’s Feast of Starlight.” Orodiel waved in her direction. The raven-haired she-elf was currently dancing with other lords and ladies, paying no mind to her king who stayed behind.

“You know I do not dance,” the king snorted.

“Not exactly, brother; I know you can dance, but since the death of your beloved, you have chosen not to – at least that is what I have heard.”

He smiled and bent down to her sitting form. “And even after learning this important information, will you perhaps exceed the king’s wishes and dance with me?” Thranduil breathed to her ear. Instead of answer, she took his offered hand, and the regal pair graciously entered the crowd of dancers who immediately stopped and made way for them.

“You realize the whole realm is staring at you, don’t you?” she mumbled.

“Indeed I do.”

And so they danced, cheered and feasted almost till dawn.

\- - -

“Do not take the gossip too seriously, Orodiel,” Thranduil said later with subtle hint of warning. They retreated from the feast long ago, taking shelter in king’s chambers.

“During my travels, I have learnt that people’s gossip sometimes bring truth beside usual tittle-tattle.”

He raised his brow in question. “For example?”

“For example, that Isildur did not destroy the Ring as he should. Instead, it has been considered lost since Isildur’s assassination.”

“This particular fact is well known to me already.”

However, she continued as if she did not notice his retort. “Well… What about recent decease of the Royal Dynasty od Gondor?”

“What about it?”

“It will be restored, the prophecy fulfilled,” she whispered mysteriously.

“What prophecy? Bones of the last King of Gondor have not fallen apart in the cold damp tomb yet, and you are already talking about non-existent prophecy, and about the existence of a future heir nonetheless, although Eärnur did not have an opportunity to secure the continuation of royal bloodline before he was swallowed by depths of Minas Morghul.”

“Oh, but it is real, Thranduil.”

“How could you know?”

“I saw it.”

“You do not possess the gift of Sight,” he growled.

“How can you be so sure, brother?”

“Because you are of my blood, Orodiel, and none I know of has possessed it in our family. You talk nonsense.”

“Same nonsense as that a rather mysterious creature called the Necromancer has settled in Dol Guldur?” she shot back. “Orc scouts are roaming our forest freely, Ungoliant’s spawn and darkness are spreading from the south; there cannot be coincidence in this. We – you – should intervene before it is too late.”

“Those are severe accusations, indeed. You may possess a gift of seeing non-existent links between nonrelated affairs, sister, but do not instruct me how to reign my kingdom. You of all; you who cannot fulfil a simple promise not to go to foreign wars.” His words became bitter.

“I have no wish to do that, believe me,” she replied rather harshly.

“Then this conversation shall be considered as finished.”

“But –”

“I shall – and will – protect this kingdom from evil; you have my word, Orodiel. But what are lands of humans or dwarves to us? They are mortal; they shall die one day, no matter if it is today, tomorrow or a hundred years from now. They are not of our concern, and you shall remember that. And for now, you are not to leave this kingdom unless I permit you to do so.” He turned from her as if to indicate that her private audience was over.

She frowned but could not bring herself to leave his chambers.

“Maybe you have spent too much time with other races, and thus grew fond of them,” the King spoke again when he did not hear door open and close behind her, “but consider this: people you once knew and regarded them as your friends may be dead by now. And if not, they will certainly die soon.” Thranduil paused for a brief moment before he added in barely audible whisper: “Do not attach to them emotionally, it may break your heart.”


	5. Shackles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ‘Shackles’ takes place mainly during the span of 2770 – 2941 of the Third Age. Lady Orodiel spends few decades in Rivendell, leaving in haste shortly before the Company of Thorin Oakenshield arrives. Also, the prophecy reference belongs to T. A. 2931 when Aragorn, son of Arathorn, was born.

### Chapter five: SHACKLES

“Lady Orodiel, we thought you would never be seen in these parts of the Halls again.” Lady Meltôriel could not hide her astonishment when two ellith entered women’s chambers where highborn ladies and wives of high ranking lords were usually gathering, gossiping over embroidery and other activities to pass their time.

“Clearly, king himself decided otherwise, my lady,” princess replied politely, biting down her bitterness. Although she was not surprised by the imprisonment within Limrond’s vast halls, she secretly hoped for its short duration – only to find herself unable to sneak out of here for literally decades.

“So we do owe him a lovely surprise, do we not?”

“Unfortunately, yes. As many others, it would seem,” Orodiel mumbled before turning to her escort. “Please, Lady Beleth, would you be so kind and guide me through my today’s duties? I fear that my fingers have grown stiff and clumsy after all those years of wielding a sword.”

_She did not know that she would be condemned to threading a needle until one ill-fated summer when a word of army mobilization eventually arrived…_

Lady Orodiel could not believe that her brother’s heart became stone. He was changing slowly in front of her eyes; Thranduil was no longer kind and compassionate sibling she had been forced to abandon in his early years of reign. He acted as if his feelings towards her chilled; and it certainly was not only because of her spirited nature – even their father knew he could not lock her up and thus prevent Orodiel from wandering off. Oropher often had to make tough choices, yet he never restrained her.

Though she many times silently prayed to Valar for him, she was forced to give up on him one day – that particular day came when Smaug the dragon destroyed the dwarven kingdom of Erebor.

Thranduil charged on the Lonely Mountain with his forces. Yet while watching dwarves suffer, he did nothing to help them in need. Instead, he turned his elk and retreated back into safety of the Woodlands. He had warned king Thrór of what may come once: that the fire-breathing beast could show on their doorstep anytime. And that day, when his eyes fell upon a disaster that befell dwarves and men – as the heat of dragon’s fire was felt in Dale, too –, the elven army turned its back on those afflicted by serpent’s greed.

However, the Elvenking’s actions ignited hatred in the hearts of stubborn dwarves. It was later said that the real purpose of the manoeuvre was to reclaim something of his: The white gems of pure starlight, his gift to the Queen. Yet Orodiel did not want to believe those lies.

Or were they lies, truly?

She remembered the said jewels; the Queen had never a chance to see them, though.

Turning his back to people in need, Thranduil unknowingly forced his sister to leave again. Orodiel then retreated to Imladris to hide there for over another hundred years, choosing the exile of her own accord over having to see him every day in Limrond – because once leaving the kingdom without Thranduil’s consent, she risked that he might not allow her to set foot in Mirkwood again.

In the Last Homely House, Lord Elrond accepted her willingly.

\- - -

One evening, the princess stayed awake long into the night, keeping company to Erestor, now Elrond’s chief councillor. They were talking about random things at first. He had always shown interest in other realms’ politics, so he mainly kept asking Orodiel about the Woodland Realm. Even though she could not satisfy his desire to know more about its current king, she gladly – and honestly – answered his questions regarding King Oropher’s reign, for their ways did hardly change since those days.

But now, she fell into strange silence; she kept staring into the flames dancing in hearth, for nights still remained cold.

“Lady Orodiel?” he stood and approached her with concerned look.

_All that is gold does not glitter…_

She heard a whisper being carried by chilly wind. At first, it was barely audible and it felt like she could not grasp every word of it.

_Not all those who wander are lost…_

“Did you hear it?” she turned to the ellon standing beside her, yet a moment later she acted as if oblivious of his presence. Orodiel rose from the chair and slowly walked to the balcony.

_The old that is strong does not wither…_

_Deep roots are not reached by the frost…_

Immediately, she recognized it. She had heard it before – in a dream, long time ago, and thought she had forgotten. But now, standing on the balcony engulfed in night air and faint starlight, her back illuminated by the fire from inside, she finished the prophecy in soft mumble.

“From the ashes a fire shall be woken,

“A light from the shadows shall spring;

“Renewed shall be Blade that was Broken,

“The crownless again shall be king.”

Orodiel let out a tiny whimper. She was not aware of neither her firm grip on railing nor the strength of it. Only then she saw concern in Erestor’s eyes which literally burned a hole into her.

“Do I need to summon Lord Elrond, my lady?” the chief councillor asked worriedly.

“That is not necessary, really,” she rebuffed him.

“Please, do not frighten me such,” he said after a few moments.

“You should not fear for my well-being, _mellon_. It has already passed.”

However, the pain was still present, for in the early morning on following day, far away from Rivendell, a new-born child’s wailing filled the air – Gilraen of Dúnedain gave her husband Arathorn a son whose future was meant to be greatest of all one day.

\- - -

They were walking in gardens without obvious purpose – other than the fact that the Lord of Imladris wanted to talk to her after Erestor had described him in detail what he had witnessed. But it had not come to the matter, yet. Instead, Orodiel was silently admiring early blooming flowers which trimmed the stone path snaking along bushes.

“This often reminds me of _Nost-na-Lothion_ , although it came later in spring in Gondolin,” she mused silently, following the path. _Birth of Flowers_ was her first of many happy memories from her youth – the carelessness of elves who celebrated the end of winter, although even there it was not as harsh as in other regions. However, Gondolin had been surrounded by mountain ranges so vast that only few dared to cross them in the middle of winter frosts…

“I can only imagine how unpredictable one’s memories must have been,” her companion mused. “Given the circumstances of your stay in Hidden Kingdom.”

“Not every memory of that place is unpleasant to me, Elrond,” she sighed. “Surely one’s deeply buried memories can be triggered unexpectedly; yet there always were moments of compassion I am grateful for. One cannot judge a race as whole by deeds of several of its individuals.” Orodiel paused when she caught a glimpse of Lord Glorfindel on the bridge over their heads. _Does Elrond even know –?_ It seemed that she was lost deep in thoughts for a moment or two.

_The first time when she saw him was when they made her kneel before Turgon’s throne. She was searching faces of present elves with silent plea to help her, yet none did so. The lords of Noldorin people watched her with mixed emotions: some viewed her as a traitor, others glimpsed only a child in her. Yet others eyed her with barely palpable curiosity written over their faces. Glorfindel seemed only disgusted by the state of affairs._

_Second time he revealed himself to her was approximately a year later when Maeglin finally challenged her to fight after many months of studying her technique. Perhaps curiosity got better of the blonde ellon; he watched her every move intently as if to anticipate her next step. He acted as Maeglin’s second, although it came to no encounter –_

“I was not aware that you may possess the gift of Sight, my lady,” Elrond said after a while, following the direction of her glances.

“But I certainly do not,” she muttered, looking down and turning to him.

“You yourself said to me earlier that you had learned about the prophecy from a dream.”

Orodiel sighed. “It is more about certain feelings rather than images I could later remember as clearly as a day. Yes, I admit that as of late, I do dream about strange things from time to time; but I have never thought of them as of Sight because they never happen – although even predictions are known as not becoming true sometimes. Furthermore, none of our ancestors has been known to carry this trait.”

“Still, you cannot deny that magic of our people – the most ancient one – flows through your veins, my lady. You certainly do remember what I am talking about,” he gently placed his palm over her heart where he had witnessed ugly scars forming centuries ago.

“Yes, I do,” she whispered.

“Moreover,” Lord Elrond paused for a moment, deep in thought, “gift of Sight could be passed onto you through your mother, Lady Lassiel – it was not quite uncommon before kingdoms of exiled elves were founded in Beleriand during the First Age.”

She did not possess a single clear memory of her mother, only those vague ones that seemed to avoid her mind. Could it be that father never talked about her when they finally fled from Lindon, heading to the East? Lassiel stayed behind, accepting Círdan’s offer to return to Valinor… Would Oropher even know – could she tell him?

“So it may be possible…” Orodiel mused. “But why now?”

“Because the world is changing again,” he replied.

\- - -

“I have not seen you in White Council for a while.” The blonde elf showed up in shadow behind one of tall pillars of the hall. “Are you avoiding me intentionally, my lady?”

“It depends,” she muttered without giving him a single glance, continuing in turning pages of a book in her hands. He would catch up with her shortly, anyway – and even when he fell into step beside her, Orodiel did not look up.

“On what – if I may ask?”

She abruptly closed the book and stopped mid-step. “Well, we clearly have nothing to say to each other, my lord. Please, do not make it any harder,” she sighed. To tell the truth, she had to concede her thoughts about their shared moment were more intrusive than she would admit. “And stop acting like an ellon infatuated by beautiful maiden,” the princess added rather harshly. “We are not lovers; you had made yourself more than clear that morning.”

He clutched her hands in his, taking the book from her.

She looked into his eyes for the first time in years, and almost gasped at what she saw in them. Glorfindel watched her with tenderness she had not found in anyone since –

“Yet does one misstep in morality mean complete avoidance?” he asked suddenly. “Although I will respect it should it be your wish.”

“I fear that I know not what I wish anymore,” Orodiel whispered, then her hands slipped from his hold. “As for the Council, I gave up my membership shortly after Fornost; you should have known that.” And with simple _sorry_ as farewell, she left, completely forgetting about the book Lord Elrond had so generously lent to her.

Her feet swiftly carried her to stables where a happy neigh greeted her. As if the stallion awaited her arrival, it tossed its head impatiently when the animal spotted her bringing a saddle towards him.

“Allow me to accompany you, my lady,” someone said behind her and thus startled her. It was Elladan.

“Are you following me?” she turned to him.

The ellon, resembling his father so much, shrugged. “The lands are not safe these days, Lady Orodiel. Father would worry should he learn about your unaccompanied absence.”

“I only need to go for a ride. To clear my head,” she protested.

“Then you will have use of second pair of eyes,” Elladan nodded, saddling up his horse. “Besides, I shall not bother you; and horses will stretch their legs nicely, for they are growing idle in these stables.” He smiled, patting the animal on its broad neck.

\- - -

“Pray tell me, why do Orcs follow me wherever I go?” she asked towards the twinkling stars hanging on night sky. She was whispering; not addressing anyone in particular, though. “Perhaps I should have left for Valinor the day I buried Valdaglerion. It would save us many complications, and I would have to care naught of what stayed behind me in the Middle-Earth, then. I could be carefree for once, not carrying a heavy burden of lonely life on my shoulders… I do not know what it feels to be free anymore,” she complained quietly.

“Would I really be a life you wished for?  Besides, you would not meet Lindir if you were to leave after the war with Sauron,” feminine voice objected.

But she did not turn to Lady Arwen; not yet. “Lindir is foolish to find interest in me, he should better forget me and find elleth more suitable to his persona,” Orodiel sighed. _To his modesty and… purity,_ she finished in her thoughts.

“That is wisdom you are talking about, my dear, but has love ever been wise? The truth, however reasonable, could break his heart – which he is willing to place at your feet,” another voice spoke gently.

“The truth? That I belong to another? That elves usually do not marry twice because of their belief concerning their loved ones, after leaving the world of living, waiting for them elsewhere? The truth that I asininely cherish a fading memory?” She did not intend to sound harsh; yet her words might be considered cruel. She finally turned to the person standing in the entrance to hidden balcony where Orodiel had been standing for a while now. After moment of silence, she continued. “Besides, our bond with Valdaglerion was… consummated, so to say.”

“So, it is true, then,” Lady Galadriel said matter-of-factly.

“Yes,” she admitted bitterly and averted her eyes. “Lord Túven disposed of me because according to him I have brought shame on my family by committing the act of treason against tradition. He had other presumed deeds to speak against me, too, of course; but sharing in both soul and body with my husband-to-be? That infuriated him most.”

“In the mirror, I have seen a child that was never meant to be born. A son. It did not make sense at that time,” Galadriel mumbled as if to herself.

“Only Valar know, my lady. I miscarried shortly after the Battle of the Last Alliance.”

 _Yet another man has entered your life also,_ voice of the Lady of Light continued in Orodiel’s head. Lady’s light blue eyes seemed to pierce her soul with intensity of their stare.

 _I am ashamed of my failure, my lady,_ she admitted. _I have succumbed to carnal desire, and shall act so never again._

 _We shall see._ Galadriel smiled mysteriously at her – that exact smile caused Orodiel to shiver with fear.

\- - -

_Orodiel was committed to her chambers due to pain bordering with unbearable shortly after their return from battlefield. Some eager servant’s rumours had it that she mourned greatly her deceased lover – as others who returned did; they too mourned their loved ones who were never to see their home again. People in palace started gossiping about her quick fading, then, because she did not come out for a few days._

_However, the truth was much less poetic than that. Thranduil’s sister excused herself from dinner, saying that she was tired and thus was going to rest. Dizziness overcame her, and an unfamiliar feeling started blooming in her abdomen. Although worried a little, she paid it no further mind and lay down on bed, only to be awoken by sharp pain shooting from her lower abdomen through whole body. At that moment, Orodiel was truly alarmed, but could not go anywhere without others noticing her condition._

_Panicked, she forced herself to summon a handmaid who arrived shortly after; but seeing her lady, blood drowned from her cheeks, she ran to fetch a healer before her mistress could say anything. Fortunately, the healer was no other than Eruraina, a friend who happened to know about her lady’s condition._

_When both the handmaiden and healer returned to Lady Orodiel’s quarters, they found her lying in a puddle of her own blood on the floor of parlour, unconscious._

_Time flew by while Eruraina tended to her; it became hours already and Orodiel had not regained consciousness yet. Then suddenly, footsteps echoed from elaborate wooden staircase leading to princess’s bedroom – Thranduil came in without an invitation._

_“How is she?” he asked with concern, sounding desperate._

_“It is premature to draw any conclusions, my king,” the healer said heavily with grave expression, bowing._

_Now, as he had already lost his father, he could not afford to lose his sister, the last family he was left with. He glanced towards blood-stained linens lying on a pile beside bed; maid had not taken it away yet. “Did you know about it?” he hissed._

_“Yes, my king,” Eruraina confessed without a second thought._

_Thranduil swallowed his first tears threatening to run down his pale cheeks before he asked: “Did she know?”_

_A moment of silence preceded her confirmation. “Yes.”_

_“And yet she followed us to the battle,” he barely whispered, watching Orodiel’s ashen face._

_“I am so sorry, my lord.”_

_“Please, do not be. She knew the risks, and still, she went with us willingly.” He sat down beside his sister. “You may go now; I will summon you should her condition change.”_

_“As you command.” Eruraina curtsied._

_But she did not turn to leave yet when the king spoke to her again. “But before you go, please, tell me, who else knows about the child?” His voice changed from concerned to serious; Thranduil knew well that she and her fiancée were to be married after the war – from which only his body without any sign of life was retrieved._

_“No one I know of, my lord,” she replied._

_“Good. Let it remain like that – you surely understand what I mean.”_

_“Perfectly.” The healer bowed again before she left._

_Even though they remained silent about what really happened to the princess, Lord Túven, both husband to their aunt Beleth and the head councillor at once, found out somehow – and he later used this powerful knowledge against Orodiel._

\- - -

There was a knock on her door; it was probably one of Elrond’s servants bearing a message for her. “Enter,” she muttered, yet she did not turn to face the entrance – she did not bother with covering her upper body, either.

An ellon came in, then, and it was no other than Lindir. “I-I apologize for intrusion,” he faltered hurriedly, averting his gaze, “but my lord Elrond has sent me to inform you upon the immediate departure of his company; they are to pursue pack of orcs daring to draw near Imladris.”

She only shrugged at first, continuing with dressing herself.

“He also instructed me to deliver a gift to you.” He dared to steal a quick glance towards her bared back which was half-hidden under the curtain of her once blonde locks – he could not but notice that she dyed them. “My lady!” he cried in surprise. “What happened to your hair?”

Only then Orodiel turned to face him, saying with false ease, “I have to disguise myself in order to get to the Mirkwood unharmed.” And while dressed in light tunic, she braided her now dyed hair.

“But you have had such beautiful hair,” Lindir half-whispered; it almost sounded desperate, heartbroken. And as he gathered his wits hastily, he added, “I am aware it may have sounded foolish, and you have to forgive me, my lady.” She nodded, and they stood there in silence for couple of heartbeats – in the meantime, Orodiel donned light armour and was checking her weapons while arming herself – before he remembered the package in his hands. “My lord has ordered these to be made for you, my lady.” He lay the cloth-bound gift on bed.

Orodiel frowned. “He should have not bothered. I am certainly not leaving forever,” she mumbled as she unpacked it.

A gasp escaped her lips as an elven steel shone in front of her. There lay two masterly crafted long knives worthy of a great warrior. She took one of them in her hand and traced its blade carefully with fingers before she asked, eyeing the tall ellon: “Did Elrond say anything I should know of?”

It seemed as if Lindir squirmed under her piercing look. “My lord said that time shall come when the Sindar would defend the Middle-Earth against great Darkness,” he quoted his master.

“His gift of foresight has shown him that, no doubt.”

\- - -

The hooves of Orodiel’s trotting stallion sang on stony bridge arch leading to the gates. She did not once look back, although Lindir, who was standing on the last step and watching her leave, wished for it. She happened to pass a man in grey cloak and pointed hat, accompanied by fourteen others, in the gate; but without a single glance casted in their direction, she headed to the outside.

“Elves, those arrogant cunts,” one of the strange company muttered.

Lindir sensed that someone was coming forward. He turned to spot a group of dwarves who were accompanying a wizard. “Mithrandir,” he exclaimed, passing the guard and descending the steps once again that day.

“Lindir,” Gandalf the Grey smiled and extended his arm in greeting.

“We heard you had crossed into the Valley.”

“I’m to speak with Lord Elrond,” the wizard switched into Common Tongue.

“My lord Elrond is not here.”

“Not here,” Gandalf echoed. “Where is he?”

As Lindir opened his mouth to answer the wizard’s question, a sound of horn signalled an arrival of riding party.


	6. Shield

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's events start shortly before the Company's arrival to Mirkwood. I have even used the movie script to write the scene of the orc's interrogation - I simply felt like I had to preserve the characters' lines they had said in the Desolation of Smaug. So the credit should go to Fran Walsh and Philippa Boyens, the writers of the screenplay.  
> ... And I should be ashamed that I actually stole from them.  
> But I am not.  
> Or am I?  
> Besides, I think it's evident where my writing ends and their (in adjusted form, of course) starts.

### Chapter six: SHIELD

“I mean no harm.” The elleth lowered her weapons at last, relieved that the pursuit finally ended. A dawn was near.

“Who are you?” a demanding, deep male voice asked. It belonged to an incredibly tall man who just shifted from a bear form before her own eyes.

“I am only a healer,” she said.

“A healer… But heavily armed,” the beast mused. “Healers should prevent the death, not inflict it.” He approached her slowly, as if to intimidate her.

“These plains became full of evil recently, even simple healers are in danger,” she replied, determined to not flinch.

“True. But tell me, elf, why is Silvan wandering these lands alone?” His steel gaze seemed to pierce her very soul.

“I am not –” she stopped before saying something stupid. Instead, she retorted, “I can take care of myself, skin-changer.” Or could she? If it were not for the pack of warg riders which hunted her down from the Misty Mountains, she would not encounter a huge bear near Carrock. The orcs seemed to be afraid of him, and thus stopped pursuing her when she crossed the border of his territory. They dropped the hunt and left the she-elf many arrows shorter, yet alive.

“I can see,” he growled. “Why did they chase you?”

“No way they knew who I really am,” she whispered, taking her eyes off of him momentarily to look behind the shape-shifter’s back. She searched the nearest bushes for any slightest sign of orcs’ presence.

“Good. Leads to the question. Who are you?”

\- - -

The Guard of Honour stood motionlessly beneath the antler throne, not reacting when a figure covered in hood approached their king. But Thranduil was eyeing her cautiously; wardens said a she-elf demanded to speak with him. Although they had confiscated her weapons before letting her anywhere near their king, a person hiding in shadows could only intend to do evil to his or her opponent. “Who dares to disturb the peace of this realm?” he asked, and though sounding theatrical, his voice bore unspoken threat.

“I came to warn you, king of Mirkwood, that the quest of reclaiming Erebor has begun,” the person said quietly. “Evil is in motion.”

All at once, the hood fell on her shoulders, and he noticed the simply braided dark chestnut hair. A single look into her eyes forced him to gasp – although she looked more like Noldo at first sight, nobody could be mistaken after inspecting her face. Yet when Thranduil composed himself, he shook his head in denial as if to say, _‘You are not a sister of mine.’_ –

He had become cold and reserved.

Could it be that he finally locked inside a shell of indifference, or rather disapproval, to escape the pain of the mundane?

“We both know the Lonely Mountain draws the attention of other creatures also, not only that of Durin’s folk,” she continued as if she did not notice; the negative reaction of his pained her dearly, though.

“I hold no interest towards that pile of rock,” he said dismissively.

“But that is not true – or is it, my king?” Orodiel casted him a bitter smile. “Did you not lead an army there almost two hundred years ago? Do you not care for _white gems of pure starlight_ anymore?” Thranduil’s eyes shone dangerously after that, and she smiled triumphantly, pushing yet further. “The Queen also left you a son, as I recall. So why are you so obsessed with stones when you have an heir to take care of?”

The king rose from his throne, but did not descend yet. “That is not a business of yours,” he hissed, irritated. Only then Thranduil waltzed down from his perch and stopped in front of her – and struck her face with back of his hand.

Orodiel only glared at him, not saying anything.

“If you wanted to talk about nothing else with me, you could as well have stayed out of this kingdom, sister… But I am not cold-hearted and calculating as Lord Túven, so I kindly permit you to stay regardless of your lack of gratitude. However, I must warn you: you should show your gratefulness – else you could have ended as a dirty beggar in realms of Men for all I care.”

With that, he dismissed her.

\- - -

_“What do you want from me, Túven?”_

_“Why so harsh, lady Orodiel? Cannot an ellon have a simple, pleasant conversation with an elleth?” A hideous grin deformed councillor’s lips._

_“Pray tell me, my lord, does it also include a pleasant conversation, as you put it, with an unscrupulous creature? Because ever since you tasted power from father’s chalice, I find your presence almost… unendurable.”_

_“So reproachful,” he smirked._

_“Seems I was born like that,” Orodiel shrugged and rose from the bench._

_“No, my dear niece,” he opposed, placing his hand on her shoulder; “you have changed – very recently one would say. If I may be so bold, I would suggest that the alteration occurred with certain ellon being to you closer than your father would have approved.”_

_“Do not be ridiculous, Túven.”_

_“Oh, am I?” he chuckled silently. “I would say you did not quite follow our people’s tradition of engagement, and became to know your husband-to-be quite intimately –_ carnally _, I would say – before you were supposed to.”_

_“What are you implying?”_

_“That I have not noticed that silver ring on your hand – the very same your precious Valdaglerion gave you – has turned into golden one, dear. In other words: he could not hold his cock in his pants, my lady.”_

_“Did you spy on us or what?”_

_“So you do not deny it? Good. I have feared that I would have to remind you of certain things.” He was talking to her in lowered yet audible voice, his facial expression turning into serious for once._

_“Remind me of what? Did father order you to follow me?” she asked again._

_“It is my job to keep an eye on royal family, dear. And to know things.”_

_“What things?” she barked, irritated._

_“Secrets. On everyone.” There was that hideous grin again. “And your secret, my lady Orodiel, is quite interesting. You should not be shocked that I could not resist possessing such tempting – and delicate – information. Moreover when that information would become quite useful one day.”_

_“I am afraid I do not follow you, my lord.” Although she tried all her might to hide fear, Orodiel became slightly restless and distracted in Túven’s presence, her face pale as newly fallen snow. She knew exactly what he was talking about; yet she prayed to Eru himself that the man in front of her would not say it aloud._

_Túven, being older than her and thus more experienced in reading others’ body language, recognized those hints of uneasiness in her. “Yes, my beautiful niece, exactly_ that _,” he hissed. “For your own sake, I hope he was a good fuck, because you will not make the same mistake twice – I personally will see to it.” And his expression was triumphant while delivering these words._

_“You cannot force me to leave.”_

_“Oh, if I were you, I would not be so sure. Although keeping you here would make my watching over you easier, I admit that.”_

_“Are you blackmailing me now? What would silence your foul tongue,_ uncle _?” she spat the last word like it was poison._

_“What a naughty and spoiled brat you are,” he said, still smiling triumphantly. “King Oropher should not let you scuttle around freely; things got out of control with you. A strict upbringing would serve you better. Maybe you would not bring such a shame on yourself if you used your brains properly.” He chuckled again as if it was a good joke, then left the secluded gardens._

\- - -

“Orodiel?” soothing voice of her aunt said. A hand rested lightly on her bare shoulder. She most likely fell asleep in the bath.

“Beleth,” she whispered, still drowsy.

The elleth came in front of her –

– and gasped. “So it is true,” she murmured, lifting her chin gently. The deep purple bruise already formed, and now it was sensitive to Beleth’s featherlike brush of fingers. Orodiel winced with pain.

“Your brother should not lose his temper so easily.”

“I angered him, though,” she stood up for Thranduil.

“That is no excuse for what he did, my dear. He humiliated you in front of your people!” Beleth cried in protest. “At the very least, he could have waited till you both retreated to private quarters if he had to strike you at all – which I doubt.”

“That would not be the lesson he intended for me, aunt. Besides, he is the _King_.”

“But still,” the look of Beleth’s icy blue eyes was kind. She held niece’s face in both her hands. Both ellith remained in silence for a while before Orodiel shivered; water, now coloured with the hair dye, went cold long ago.

“I shall bear the bruise proudly – as I always do with injuries sustained in battles,” Orodiel said at last.

Her aunt smiled sadly. “I know you will. Oropher’s women must be strong, otherwise the burden of Arda would crush them,” she sighed.

\- - -

_“Why are you sneaking upon me?” Orodiel hissed. Shortly after her first encounter with lord Túven, she grew suspicious of everyone who dared to go near her. It seemed as if Túven himself provided for feeding her growing paranoia, though._

_“M-my lady?” the servant was taken unaware. “D-did I do something wrong?” he stuttered._

_“You should not be here!”_

_“I-I-” the servant was faltering, struggling for words._

_Orodiel thrusted the poor ellon to the wall. “Enough! You were following me the other day. Why?” she growled, suddenly becoming furious. “How much does Túven pay you for spying on me? What promises did he make?” she snarled at him._

_“N-nothing! I sw-swear!” the servant started sobbing. She held him against the wall a moment longer before she let him go. After that, he withdrew from her sight hastily._

_They quickly became afraid of her seemingly unprovoked anger outbursts. Orodiel soon became isolated from other elves, retreating from the palace for days, often wandering the Greenwood on her own. She frequently roamed the wilderness in search of solitude, and trying to put as much distance as possible between her and Túven’s spies. She almost killed a fellow ellon in panic when he secretly followed her all the way from Limrond –_

_And that was her undoing._

_Lord Túven grasped this opportunity and truly began to plot his plans to cast her away from the Woodland Realm._

\- - -

_Orodiel glanced up slightly from her embroidery at the sound of footsteps approaching her, yet dense bushes in Queen’s Secret Gardens prevented her from seeing anyone. The gardens were usually empty, hardly a soul dared to enter this sacred sanctum of royal family. She turned after clear male voice only to find Lord Túven standing surrounded by the Guard of Honour behind her. “What is this supposed to mean, my lord?” she asked innocently._

_“Seize her,” he commanded, pointing a finger towards her. Guardsmen obeyed immediately. “You are to be brought before your king, my lady,” the councillor chuckled triumphantly, “for I finally have enough evidence that you have been planning to take over the throne.”_

_Orodiel’s mouth fell agape. “That is a lie!” she cried. She would never plot against her family._

_“We shall see.”_

\- - -

It was none other than Tauriel, Captain of Guard, who relieved her of pitiful glances casted in her direction. She came to her on next day late afternoon that king Thranduil requested the hideous net weavers’ nests’ known locations being surveyed and eradicated, and that she wished for Orodiel to join the group of wardens she personally selected for this particular task. To not accept could be considered foolish; and so she was ready in the early morning of the following day, waiting for a few latecomers.

She saw someone in the corner of her vision, and first Orodiel thought it was the king himself. Only at second glance she could make the different shade of hair colour and somewhat shorter figure of his son. “What do you think you are doing, Legolas?” she hissed under her breath when he approached the small group. Sometimes she allowed herself to forget that he was an ellon of age.

“I am coming, too, no matter you like it or not,” he replied almost inaudibly.

“Does _he_ know about your decision?” she asked without actually saying Thranduil’s name.

“No. Yet I know you will not betray me to him.” The prince actually smiled.

So siblings’ latest dispute truly became a public affair, then –

“Why should I? You are grown ellon, so act like one,” Orodiel said at last. “Let us see whether you have at least gained skill instead of wisdom, for your apparent lack of the latter.”

“Good,” he nodded. “I will pretend that I have simply overheard that.” Though Legolas said it in solemn voice, he was actually grinning.

Tauriel watched their little exchange of words silently, both amused and worried at the same time. Taking Orodiel Oropheriell with them was one thing; but having two members of royal family on dangerous quest? That was completely different – and far more risky than she would like, no matter the often fantastic tales of their deeds that were passed around even among guardsmen.

\- - -

During their quest of eliminating a huge spider nest – for the Ungoliant’s spawn grew ever bolder in their expanding north – the elven scouts found most unexpected travellers in spiders’ toils. Thirteen dwarves they were, evidently lost and fighting hungry beasts.

Elven scouts surrounded the company.

“Do not think I won’t kill you, Dwarf. It would be my pleasure,” Legolas threatened the black haired one with a bowstring strengthened towards him.

But then shouts echoed from somewhere, and other dwarf, blonde one, turned after that sound and called: “Kíli!”

Orodiel and Tauriel were busy with persecution of small portion of escaped spiders that were attracted by sounds of fight and thus drawn to small clearing. There, in rustling old fallen leaves, lay a rather young dwarf with debris entangled in dark hair; a hideous spider pulled him by leg. Both she-elves approached him, eliminating the orb-weavers effectively. However, Tauriel got to him first.

“Throw me a dagger! Quick!” he shouted in Common Tongue, watching the rapidly nearing spider warily.

“If you think I am giving you a weapon, Dwarf, you are mistaken!” Tauriel was saying during fight.

At that moment, Orodiel slayed the creature, being only slightly out of breath. Noticing the fear-widened eyes of handsome dwarf, she grinned madly. She could not deny it: she enjoyed killing.

“Are the spiders dead?” Legolas asked.

“Yes, but more will come,” Tauriel nodded. “They are growing bolder.” In those words, there was hidden a common fear only few of elvenfolk dared to say, though. But they all knew it was true.

“Search them,” the princess ordered when Tauriel, dwarf and she joined the other group. Only then she took a better look at the dwarves. “I know you,” Orodiel breathed out in Common Tongue so dwarves understood her. Nobody paid them any attention while depriving other travellers of their various weapons. Her blue eyes piercing their leader, she strode towards him and hissed, “Pray tell me, Thorin, son of Thráin, what business do thirteen dwarves have in these lands? Especially when they needed rescue – quite extraordinary, don’t you think? For I have heard that dwarves stand unmatched in battlefield.”

“Definitely not your business,” the dwarvish leader growled.

“We shall see, Oakenshield. Nevertheless, you have a lot to explain to our king since you have entered his realm uninvited,” she whispered, bending down to him and stripping him of his swords and daggers.

“I’d never justify my actions before the pompous runt; they clearly aren’t his business, either!” he snapped.

“Then watch your tongue! Otherwise I shall deprive you of it!” she threatened and tied his hands.

\- - -

King Thranduil ordered to lock all the dwarves – except Thorin Oakenshield – in cells. Only then he descended from his throne, and stopping his sister from leaving by commanding her to stay, he spoke to the dwarf: “Some may imagine that a noble quest is at hand. A quest to reclaim a homeland and slay a dragon. I myself suspect a more prosaic motive. Attempted burglary; or something of that ilk. You have found a way in. You seek that which would bestow upon you the right to rule. The King’s Jewel.”

_Heart of the Mountain –_

“The Arkenstone. It is precious to you beyond measure; I understand that. There are gems in the mountain that I too desire: white gems of pure starlight…”

 _So the obsession with stones never left him,_ she thought. Orodiel did not wish to witness the exchange of their angry words, for she knew exactly what was to follow. She witnessed the wrath of kings many times; so why this should be any different? So, disgusted by him, she left the throne room quietly.

\- - -

Although it was weeks since dwarves ended locked in the dungeons, Orodiel could not get rid of uncomfortable feeling that someone was constantly hiding in shadowy corners of the palace. She could sense the creature’s presence; yet it was nowhere to find, even though she often searched vigorously for it. Furthermore, great evil became present within Thranduil’s halls.

“What is wrong?” Tauriel asked her one evening when the princess was sitting on the edge of a platform connected by a bridge over the river with the forest path outside the caves, her back turned towards the gates. “We should retreat inside; the king ordered the gates to be closed for the night,” captain whispered softly, taking a seat beside her.

“I cannot,” Orodiel muttered, watching the calming water stream. “It is like the walls are closing in around me until I am suffocated. All I can focus on is to get out quickly, otherwise my head shall burst with pain. I cannot endure one more night within Limrond’s walls when the evil is inside with me.”

“What evil? That does not make sense.” Tauriel’s brows furrowed with worry.

“I think I am going completely mad,” king’s sister howled.

It was so unexpected sound that it startled the guards eventually. They eyed each other nervously.

“I have seen fifteen companions arriving to Rivendell, Tauriel. Yet thirteen we have brought in.” Orodiel suddenly turned to her, her eyes shone with madness that would scare one off. “Tell me, where are the other two?”

“They perhaps left the group. Or perished. It is known that goblins dwell inside the mountains.”

“No, it is not that… One of them was the Grey Wizard. But what would he want? What could his intentions possibly be?” She tried to remember more details; however, images came to her mind reluctantly. Then suddenly, she began muttering to herself: “The fourteenth was even smaller than those filthy dwarves. I have seen many things in my life, yet I do not recall encountering such a race… Could it possess magic? Could it be so evil that I would sense it? But how is it even possible?”

Tauriel did not understand. Maybe she should report princess’s strange behaviour to someone. “Please, come inside,” she said at last, spotting a healer approaching them swiftly from inside.

Orodiel refused their help, though. She got to her feet and entered the caverns; many worried looks followed her nonetheless.

\- - -

“They are gone!”

The dwarves somehow escaped in the following morning. Elros, the Keeper of the Keys, would be punished later due to his inappropriate behaviour during watch; for none of guardsmen on duty were allowed to get drunk obviously. But first, the prisoners had to be recaptured – that was the king’s command.

Legolas, Orodiel and other archers followed them. “Shut the gates,” Legolas ordered as the pursuers started after dwarves. Yet the dwarf-hunt soon changed to orc-fight; orcs appeared shortly after elves found the empty wine barrels in the river that dwarves used as their escape route.

“Slay them all!” the orc-leader yelled in Black Speech.

Orodiel caught only a glance of pale orc named Bolg before she had to attend to the fight. Still, it was enough to learn about the fact she suspected long ago – since there was no word about the serpent dwelling under the Mountain, former dwarven kingdom drew the mostly unwanted attention.

The fight continued even when it was evident that dwarves could not be caught.

“Tauriel, wait!” Orodiel commanded suddenly, noticing that the Captain of Guard had her dagger laid on orc’s throat. “This one we keep alive.” Those words were spoken much to Tauriel’s dissent.

\- - -

There were only four elves in the dimly lit throne room now. Legolas held the filthy orc by its hair, keeping a dagger ready on its dirty throat. Tauriel was standing nearby, playing with her knives, while Thranduil circled the prisoner. Orodiel kept her eyes on them all from her spot at the heel of stairs leading to the throne.

“… Such is the nature of the Evil. Out there in the vast ignorance of the world, it festers and spreads. A shadow that grows in the dark. A sleepless malice as black as the oncoming wall of night. So it ever was. So will it always be. In time, all foul things come forth,” the King spoke.

“You were tracking a company of thirteen dwarves. Why?” Orodiel, asking in Common Tongue, stood up and approached them.

“Not thirteen,” the orc said, and watching Tauriel who stopped waving her weapons by now, he continued, “not anymore. The young one, the black-haired archer, we stuck him with a Morghul shaft.” He seemed pleased with himself when he noticed the elleth’s face changing.

Orodiel also noticed. She was well aware of her frequent visits in dungeons.

“The poison’s in his blood. He’ll be choking on it soon,” the orc added.

“Answer the question, filth,” Tauriel uttered.

“I do not answer to dogs, She-Elf!” the orc spat in Black Speech and squirmed.

“Dogs shall not concern themselves with leeches!” Orodiel shot back in his own language, her clasp on hilt of sheathed dagger increasing in strength. For a moment, both Legolas and Tauriel stared at her before they composed themselves.

“I would not antagonize them,” the prince said, keeping his grip on creature tight. However, it remained silent.

“Do you like death? Then let me give it to you!” With that, Tauriel advanced towards the orc with blade ready in her hand.

“Enough!” Orodiel barked, stopping the Silvan elf mere centimetres from prisoner’s carotid.

“Tauriel, leave! Go now,” Thranduil ordered in Sindarin, his brows furrowed.

She straightened, and with one last glance upon growling creature, she strode out with disgusted expression on her face.

Only when she descended another flight of stairs, Thranduil spoke again. “I do not care about one dead dwarf. Answer the question,” he pressed on in Common Tongue. “You have nothing to fear. Tell us what you know and I will set you free.”

“You had orders to kill them. Why? What is Thorin Oakenshield to you?” Orodiel questioned.

“The Dwarf runt will never be king.”

“King? There is no King under the Mountain nor will there ever be,” Legolas joined the interrogation. “None would dare enter Erebor whilst the dragon lives.”

“You know nothing!” the orc actually grinned. “Your world will burn.”

“What are you talking about? Speak!” Legolas pressed the blade further.

“Our time has come again. My master serves the One. Do you understand now, Elfling? Death is upon you. The flames of war are upon you!” the creature chuckled.

At that moment, the Elvenking’s sword swished through the air, and suddenly, only an ugly head remained in Legolas’s hand. “Why did you do that? You promised to set him free.”

“And I did,” Thranduil replied lightly. “I freed his wretched head from his miserable shoulders.”

“There was more the Orc could tell us,” his son opposed.

“There was nothing more he could tell me,” the king retorted, already leaving.

“What did he mean by the ‘flames of war’?” Legolas asked after him.

“It means they will unleash a weapon so great it will destroy all before it,” Orodiel whispered behind him. She suspected that the prisoner talked about someone who ought to be defeated for many centuries now –

“I want the watch doubled at our borders. All roads, all rivers. Nothing moves, but I hear of it,” Thranduil commanded. “No one enters this kingdom, and no one leaves it.”


	7. Smaug

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As in previous chapter, I have used the movie script to write the scene in the tent. So the credit should go to Fran Walsh and Philippa Boyens again...  
> Shame on me!

### Chapter seven: SMAUG

“It seems that I do not understand my own kin, Thranduil,” Orodiel was pacing back and forth in front of the king. “You are willing to march upon Erebor with entire army only to make war over your petty concerns? Even with possibility that the Orc was talking about Sauron himself – and so the real danger lies elsewhere?”

“Those may be rash conclusions, sister,” he hissed.

“Maybe. Maybe not. Do you even know what became of the old fortress in southern Greenwood? Have you laid your eyes upon Dol Guldur recently?”

“I do not care about what happens beyond the borders of this kingdom.”

“It used to be Oropher’s seat once, and thus part of the realm.”

“Used to – as you correctly pointed out. However, it is not anymore. Besides, my concern lies with well-being of my people.” Thranduil certainly grew impatient in Orodiel’s presence.

“Oh, but of course it does!” she cried out. “Yet you are going to battle. Pray tell me, brother, since when is Erebor part of the Woodlands? Or is it only because of gemstones – although the Queen had never a chance to see them? You still consider them a great heirloom of our people. Why?”

“You would never understand, my dear sister,” he sighed.

She froze in motion. “Try me,” she then spat.

“That would be futile.”

“Really, Thranduil? Only foolish and feeble-minded rulers lead their people to wrong battles.”

“And only their foolish sisters who know nothing of the matter try to stop them,” he retorted.

“Do you really think so low of me? I dedicated my life to the path of warrior – much to our father’s disapproval. Although I have lived a rather long life through many wars, none was led over more trifling affair than yours.”

“As I said, Orodiel, you know nothing of the affair. Do not concern yourself with petty wars of mine if it offends you so.”

She slightly changed a subject then. “Well, then maybe you could permit me to leave Limrond for few days and scout the North, and thus get out of your way, my king?”

That caught his attention. “What are you up to?”

“I saw Gundabad spawn the other day, the Pale Orc. This is not about preventing some Oakenshield to reclaim his homeland; I am sure of it. Something is fishy about the matters of dragons and piles of gold; and I am going to find out what.”

“And here we are again. Why do you pursue non-existent leads so eagerly when the matters are simpler?” he asked; he could not hide is growing curiosity her stubbornness had finally ignited from his own sister, though.

“I will mind my business when you mind yours, _my_ _king_ ,” Orodiel rebuffed him.

\- - -

Formerly the great city of Dale, now only charred ruins in Smaug’s wasteland. People of recently destroyed Esgaroth took refuge within those walls only mere hours before Thranduil’s army marched into the city. Rank after rank of elven warriors in shining armour stood there as statues and waited patiently until the leaders of two races met.

In the evening, when campfires illuminated the ruins again, there was a war council to be held in Thranduil’s tent into early morning hours.

“You must set aside your petty grievances with dwarves. The war is coming; the cesspits of Dol Guldur have been emptied. You’re all in mortal danger,” the eyes of Gandalf the Grey roved from the Elvenking to the leader of Men.

“What’re you talking about?” Bard the Bowman approached him.

“It can see you know nothing of wizards,” Thranduil suddenly rose from his elaborately crafted chair and came to fill his goblet with wine. “They are like winter thunder on a wild wind, rolling in from a distance, breaking hard in alarm.” He circled Gandalf while handing filled goblet to Bard. “But sometimes a storm is just a storm.”

“Not this time. Armies of orcs are on the move. These are fighters – they have been bred for war. Our enemy has summoned his full strength –”

But Thranduil cut the wizard short: “Why show his hand now?”

“Because we forced him!” Gandalf retorted. “We forced him when the Company of Thorin Oakenshield set out to reclaim their homeland.” He started towards entrance. “The dwarves were never meant to reach Erebor. Azog the Defiler was sent to kill them.”

And in light breeze that was toying with fabric of the main tent, the King heard his sister again: _I saw Gundabad spawn the other day, the Pale Orc. This is not about preventing some Oakenshield to reclaim his homeland; I am sure of it. Something is fishy about the matters of dragons and piles of gold; and I am going to find out what._

The wizard continued. “His master seeks control of the Mountain – not just for the treasure within, but for where it lies, its strategic position. This is the gateway to reclaiming the lands of Angmar in the North. If that fell kingdom should rise again, Rivendell, Lórien, the Shire… even Gondor itself will fall.”

“These orc armies you speak of, Mithrandir, where are they?” Thranduil turned to him.

\- - -

Later that evening, Gandalf and Thranduil talked further in the tent. “Since when has my counsel counted for so little? What do you think I’m trying to do?” the wizard sounded weary; arguing with the Elvenking was clearly leading nowhere.

“Save your dwarvish friends – and I admire your loyalty to them – but that does not dissuade me from my course. You started this, Mithrandir. You will forgive me if I –”

The sound of hooves resonating through the city interrupted his speech, though. “Move! Make way!” a female voice shouted commands in Common Tongue as people and elves alike started jumping aside as fast as they could when they saw a forest beast rushing against them. “Thranduil!” the she-elf yelled on top of her lungs

“What the hell?” was all Bard was able to say when he saw an elk running towards him. He arrived to the tent in time to witness something unbelievable.

“That would be just my sister, Bowman,” the Elvenking replied as if nothing happened.

Finally, the elk, now breathless, came to a halt in front of them. Only then they noticed that its muzzle was coated in thick reddish foam as its rider clearly overestimated its strength and overrode it. Besides, she looked no better, for many streaks of dried black blood covered her.

“Lady Orodiel, what happened?” Gandalf asked, horrified by her looks.

“I had to dispose of several scouts sniffing around my hideout near Gundabad gates, Mithrandir,” she said, dismounting. “There is another orc army, along with goblin mercenaries and other foul creatures bred for war, coming from there. If they find the bed of frozen river, it will lead them directly to Ravenhill. They will raid our backs should they come from North.”

“The army of Dol Guldur is on move, too,” the wizard informed her.

“How many?”

“Several thousand, I would say.”

“So we are severely outnumbered, then,” Orodiel thought aloud.

However, Thranduil paid them no mind. He summoned Feren, the captain of archers currently assigned to watch. “Are the archers in position?” he asked.

“Yes, my lord.”

“Give the order: if anything moves on that Mountain, kill it.” With that, he retreated back inside the tent.

“Bowman!” Gandalf quickly approached the human standing aside, still inspecting the magnificent elk. “Do you agree? Is gold so important to you? Would you buy it with the blood of Dwarves?”

“It won’t come to that,” Bard turned his attention to him. “This is a fight they cannot win.”

“That won’t stop them,” another voice said. It belonged to Bilbo Baggins himself.

\- - -

Orodiel silently listened to the exchange of her brother, Man, wizard and Halfling. The Hobbit presented them the King’s Jewel, promising it would be worth ransom. She already figured out that he was the one who was supposed to steal it from the dragon’s lair – Master Burglar, indeed.

While she was washing blood off of her face and hands, she heard footsteps slowly getting closer. A single glance sideways told her it was no other than the man they called Bowman.

“You look nothing like him, you know,” he started.

“Like who? The pompous Woodland sprite?” she hissed.

He had but to chuckle when he heard the words regarding her sibling.

“You should avoid judging people by only few minutes spent in their presence,” she continued. “We yet may look as same to you by the end of the day.”

“Impossible,” he snorted.

She straightened up, and looked directly into his eyes. “Do not get confused, Bowman. Although two may share the same blood ties, they may be not the same inside. So, while my brother gets obsessed with certain things, he usually does not find pleasure in warcraft. Do not let him fight against the Dwarves.”

“I don’t intend to do so –”

“Yes, you have ransom to try as I have heard,” Orodiel cut him short, “but what if it does not work? Is there any other plan that would save your sorry asses from enemy? Because I cannot think of anything what would prevent thousands of filthy orcs from raiding both city and Mountain, killing us by hundreds, maybe thousands.”

“Thorin Oakenshield would be stupid if he didn’t agree to our conditions. He seemed reasonable when I first met him.”

“Unless he is currently under the influence of dragon sickness – rather nasty business, believe me. And that trait runs strong with his family, have you not heard?” she smirked. “His grandfather succumbed to it. Even though we warned him that his greed will bring a doom onto dwarvish heads and dragon would be drawn to their gold eventually, he stubbornly rejected us.”

“Yet you didn’t help them when the disaster came.” Bard could be as acidic and heartless as she seemed to him then. “You turned your backs to them, hiding in your precious forest, praying that the dragon would not find interest in your realm. You could have prevented many deaths that day, yet you decided to withdraw from fights.”

“Let me ask you one question, Bowman,” Orodiel said after a heartbeat. “Have you ever marched upon certain death?”

“No.”

“I did; and it is worth neither the gold of Erebor nor of all the Middle-Earth.”


	8. Stones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Orodiel arrived the previous night to warn those assembled before Gates of Erebor that they shall await arrival of more orcs than estimated. In the morning, a demand of Thranduil to return the Gems of Lasgalen finally turns into a battle where the enemy has not shown all his aces hidden up his sleeves yet. Also, it is beyond time for Orodiel to learn about significance of those accursed trinkets her brother holds dear...

### Chapter eight: STONES

Following morning, the elven forces, joined by a group of humans capable of wielding a weapon, marched upon Erebor. To the question whether Thorin Oakenshield would rather have peace or war the King under the Mountain answered: “I will have war.”

“Sincerely, I hope you have chosen only the best of warriors, Thranduil, not the incapable apprentices you used to send scouting with me. This is supposed to turn into slaughter, and I would not like to leave single dead elven body on the field to feed Erebor crows,” Orodiel had hissed the night before when everyone left. But now, when Dáin Ironfoot appeared with his forces on the horizon, the Elvenking started to realize that maybe his sister had told the truth.

Whilst their leader marshalled the troops against newcomers, Orodiel personally stayed out of the conflict – although she watched it from her post on the city walls.

Suddenly, she heard deep rumbling sound coming from the nearby hills. Every person close by had to hear it, too, for one by one stopped, looking around confusedly.

The rumbling became louder gradually – until great Earth Worms appeared. She had never seen anything like a were-worm; their massive jaws were crushing the rocks as easily as if those were just wooden splinters, their monstrous bodies were falling on surface from great holes drilled in the mountainsides. The earth was shaking violently under those impacts. And when the creatures finally vanished back in tunnels, the hills became swarming with numerous black bodies of orcs.

A horn blasted loudly on Ravenhill.

New enemies’ arrival forced the parties on battlefield to rearrange themselves. But Orodiel could not see neither how dwarves from Iron Hills formed a wall nor how Thranduil’s warriors charged upon orcs. She ran through the streets in search of skeleton guards her brother had left there. “Feren!” she cried. “Feren!”

“My lady,” he stepped out of shadow of the main tent.

“How many has Thranduil left with you?” she asked hastily.

“Around fifty, my lady. We were to prepare to leave for Limrond in short time.”

“Belay that order,” she commanded at once. “Orcs will be attacking the city immediately after initial charge against the three armies on marches down there; escape route will become non-existent then.” Although she knew that elves left behind in Dale were not likely to hold entire orc army at bay – at least until people of Esgaroth retreated to safety –, she had to try. “Give the order to prepare for battle now.”

“Aye, my lady.”

“And gather women and children to the Great Hall! In case the worst happens, hopefully we can fortify and defend it until king’s return.” _If he has enough sense to fall back…_ “We will meet there, eventually, Feren.” Orodiel then ran off; first, she had to pick her weapons she had left in another tent. She switched into Common Tongue, shouting at everyone she met on her way to retreat to the City Hall.

Soon enough, the orcs breached old weathered stone walls of the city and overrode the old market which was in its lower levels.

\- - -

“I have not seen Bolg yet, Mithrandir. It is Azog who commands these forces,” Orodiel said.

“So this is their plan all along,” Gandalf mused. “Azog engages our forces, then Bolg sweeps in from the North.”

The Halfling asked worriedly: “The North? Where is the North exactly?”

“Ravenhill,” Orodiel whispered.

“Ravenhill? Thorin is up there. And Fíli and Kíli. They’re all up there!” Bilbo Baggins cried as he realized that his friends would soon find themselves trapped between enemy forces.

\- - -

Thranduil stood amidst fallen bodies of orcs and elves; he looked defeated, having horror and bitter realization written all over his face. Too much blood was spilled today; many lifeless bodies would soon be left behind. And despair in the eyes of dying he was passing only added salt to his already stinging wounds. When Feren came to him, he ordered to withdraw from the fights. Then, surrounded by his captains, he was caught by Gandalf.

“My lord!” the wizard shouted, approaching him fast. “Dispatch this force to Ravenhill. The Dwarves are about to be overrun. Thorin must be warned.” He was out of breath.

“By all means, warn him,” the Elvenking said with steely gaze. “I have spent enough elvish blood in defence of this accursed land. No more.”

Orodiel, standing behind him, heard it but said nothing. She only exchanged worried looks with Gandalf before following her King.

Upon entering a side alley, enemy charged against them. She engaged with the pack of orcs, eventually staying behind. All of sudden, Tauriel’s voice boomed and Orodiel halted, turning to them. She saw that the elves stopped and stood still.

“You will go no further,” Tauriel said in Sindarin before she added in Common Tongue: “You will not turn away. Not this time.”

“Get out of my way.”

“The dwarves will be slaughtered.”

“Yes, they will die,” Thranduil started, coming closer to her one step at time. “Today, tomorrow, one year hence, a hundred years from now. What does it matter? They are mortal.”

But Tauriel was not moved by his speech. Instead, she pointed an arrow toward him, saying: “You think your life is worth more when there is no love in it? There is no love in you.”

“Tauriel, no!” Orodiel cried in Sindarin and shielded the king with her own body, clearly not thinking about possible consequences of her act. “Lower your weapon before it is too late,” she pleaded then, whispering.

The elleth obeyed. However, Thranduil went around his sister and pointed his sword on her, saying threateningly: “What do you know of love? Nothing. What you feel for that Dwarf is not real. You think it is love? Are you ready to die for it?”

Yet before he could do anything, the point of his sword sunk into the clothes on Orodiel’s chest. “If you harm her, you will have to kill me, Thranduil,” she hissed. “Enough of kinslaying.” And he stood there dumbstruck, staring at his sword harboured right above her heart.

Then, Legolas appeared behind his back. He shot only a glance towards his father, muttered something to shocked Tauriel, and they both left.

\- - -

The battle was finally over, the sun slowly setting behind the hills. Orodiel was wandering among the dead, seeking any trace of life she could yet save. Her feet took her to Ravenhill, eventually; she was secretly tracing her brother there. Ravenhill bathed in golden glow of setting sun. She already heard rumours of fallen Dúrins; and now, on her way up, met first group of dwarves carrying lifeless body of Thorin Oakenshield, followed by that of Fíli. She stopped and bowed to them deeply.

Thranduil watched her from above; he was standing under yet non-collapsed arch of the Watchtower, leaning against the cold stones. She approached him cautiously. When he acknowledged her presence, she joined him by his side.

“He left,” the King mumbled after a rather long silence.

“Legolas?” she asked in a soft voice.

“Yes.” He closed his eyes for a while. A teardrop ran down his pale cheek smeared with orc blood. “I have sent him to Dúnedain; to find the one you were talking about the night before you fled…” He paused before saying, “Do you think you would forgive me one day, little one?” His hand only ghosted over the area punctured by his sword previously, not daring to touch it. Finally, he looked into watery depths of her eyes.

“Does your heart still crave the _gems of pure starlight_?” she asked instead of answering his question directly. And for a moment, it seemed as if she was searching through his deepest soul.

“I have entrusted king Thrór with Gems of Lasgalen,” he took in a sharp breath, “for finest dwarven jewellers to make a gift for my Queen from them. Originally, they were found in the very heart of the Halls of Limrond shortly after father and his court abandoned the high seat in Amon Lanc… He intended to present them to you as a wedding gift; however, they ended in my possession instead.”

Orodiel sighed heavily, resting her head on Thranduil’s chest. It turned out she had never known the whole story. Still, she remembered their quarrels over the accursed stones. “Promise me,” she uttered, “that you will surrender your claim over them should Dáin Ironfoot not acknowledge it.”

With heavy heart, he nodded.

\- - -

The Horn of Erebor announced death of Thorin Oakenshield, the rightful King under the Mountain, and his nephews, the last descendants of Dúrin.

A permission was granted to Lady Orodiel, accompanied by Bard the Bowman, to pay her respects to the fallen. She brought Orcrist with her, the finest elven sword forged during the First Age that had been confiscated during their capture in Mirkwood. Bard held the Arkenstone which was entrusted to his care the night before battle, when Bilbo Baggins sneaked into Dale. They placed both the sword and the stone on Thorin’s chest, bowed to the Dúrins, and stepped away, joining other mourners – for today, the mutual antipathies between elves and dwarves were forgotten.

“The King has come unto his own; under mountain, under stone. Send him now unto the deep; unto Earth’s eternal sleep; under mountain, under stone,” Gandalf the Grey recited.

“Under mountain, under stone,” the dwarves echoed.

“Through all the lands let it be known: The King is dead!” the wizard finished.

“Long live the King!” all dwarves called then.


	9. Sindar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the Battle of the Five Armies ended as quickly as it started in T.A. 2941, the White Council was finally convinced of Sauron’s persisting presence in the Middle-Earth. Yet the world was relatively calm for few decades before the Evil unleashed its final weapon… Meanwhile, elves became wary.  
> Gollum is captured at Gandalf’s request between 3009 and 3017 of the Third Age.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now the story moves to The Fellowship of the Ring. And again, shameful me used the movie script to write the Council of Elrond (so the credit for that particular scene comes to Fran Walsh and Philippa Boyens, of course - I have just borrowed it, and thus should claim nothing).
> 
> Edit (4th February):  
> I am so sorry but after watching fanfilm "The Hunt for Gollum", I have rewritten almost half of this chapter, adding some scenes from the movie. So the Council of Elrond had to be shifted into next chapter, for this one would contain 5700+ words - which is rather long!  
> So the credit goes to Chris Bouchard, too, by the way...

### Chapter nine: SINDAR

 _“Lady Orodiel, you have been accused of High Treason,” the dull voice of appointed judge read from parchment, “by planning to take over the throne which rightfully belongs to Thranduil Oropherion, your brother. Also, to realize your plan, you intended to assassinate Lord Thranduil which you indeed confessed by saying – I quote:_ ‘I could never usurp the throne for myself whilst the rightful king lives.’ _”_

That could even cost you a life, my niece, _she heard Túven’s words he had addressed her in dungeons on multiple occasions. She would never forget the hideous expression of triumph that disfigured his face…_

_“Furthermore, regarding the evidence relevant to this case and protocols of interrogation of those present” – he pointed to the row of elves ashamed by their current position, among them her handmaid and Eruraina, former Chief Healer who was stripped of her position as a punishment – “the tribunal decided upon charging you with Treason against Kin. I must therefore ask you now, Orodiel Oropheriell, are you familiar with what I have just said?” The ellon looked up at her from the piece of paper._

_They made her kneel before the throne where Thranduil sat with saddened look in his eyes. He could do nothing; his new power was yet to be established fully. Spears of the Guard of Honour were pointing to her chest, preventing her from doing anything, whomever she would wish to endanger._

_They humiliated her by calling her Usurper in front of him._

_She glanced at Eruraina before muttering a defeated “Yes, I am”. The triumphant grin on Túven’s face made her nauseous._

_“Also, did you consummate your marriage with your betrothed before the bond was sanctified by law and tradition? Are you aware that this moral misdemeanour is making things worse for you?” – as if it could be so when they brought charge unheard of amongst Grey Elves till then._

_“Yes, your Highness,” she whispered._

_“So you do not deny any of this? Did you scheme a coup against your brother?”_

_“That is a lie, my King!” she cried in last quiver of resistance, turning directly to Thranduil. “I would never… Please, you cannot –”_

_“Enough!” Lord Túven cut her wailing short. He then turned to the throne, saying: “My king, here kneels the traitor who deserves no less than death by execution – the bitter destiny she secretly planned for you all along!”_

_Yet Thranduil summoned the judge to him by single motion of his hand. When the ellon climbed the stairs to his seat, the king whispered something into his ear, ellon’s unreadable look betraying nothing. Only when he descended and set foot on the platform before her again, he announced: “By law established by King Oropher, you are to be banished from this Realm!”_

_But she did not hear what they were saying. All she could focus on was her brother’s miserable expression. In early years of his reign after their father’s death, he had to fight over his birthright with councillors who had grown bolder during interlude between the royal funeral and coronation – which was yet to be held officially. To reject his own blood was only another of necessary sacrifices he had to make._

\- - -

“A troubled mind is greatest of burdens to bear, my lady,” the Brown Wizard observed, not unkindly. He gratefully accepted a tobacco pouch she brought him as a gift, and invited her to his humble home; although he could not offer more than a consolation.

Orodiel said she would rather stay outside, and examined his little garden. Well… it was more of small clearing letting sunrays to fall on the front door of cabin, where some herbs essential for healing grew. She bent to each plant to admire it. “I see you do not have to wander far into the forests to collect them,” she almost whispered. She liked its intact appearance – it was far from neat rows of elven herbal gardens. “At least this place remains free of dark poison that is spreading through the woods…”

“But for how long?” Radagast asked, clearly troubled. “Even though it has slowed down greatly since the Necromancer was banished by the Council.”

“It was merely ten years ago, and I have not noticed a change yet,” Orodiel shook her head.

“I have,” wizard’s voice bore a hint of smile.

The elleth sighed, standing up and turning to him fully. “The eradication of the enemy at the end of the Second Age has left a vacuum behind where a renaissance of Great Evil could occur quietly, avoiding the sights of allies during the Watchful Peace, Radagast. We underestimated Sauron’s power – twice at least already – and thus failed as protectors of Middle-Earth.”

“And you dread the day when he puts his final plan in motion,” he finished for her, stuffing his pipe with weed contemplatively. For an instant, he could see a haunted look in her face clearly before she hid it again. “However, I fear there’s no remedy to attenuate your worries, my lady.”

“I can feel that the change will occur soon,” she said, watching him puff. “It will affect our lives, changing them forever. The Middle-Earth is on brink of destruction. Should we face it divided as we are now, we will not survive it as a race – and that applies to all nations equally.”

\- - -

_“You have travelled far, maiden,” one said._

_“Perhaps too far you have wandered,” the other nodded._

_Two figures clad in sea-blue robes were bending over her lying form. They wore hard looks in their faces, as if they had travelled too far and seen too much. The stars above their heads already faded on paling sky; she had to fall asleep sometime during the cold night._

_Orodiel indeed travelled far to the East, passing the Sea of Rhûn weeks ago on foot, seldom stopping to rest. She had left her dead horse behind somewhere between Dorwinion and Urgath, and pursued by Easterlings fled further into sea of grass that seemed infinite. A few days ago she caught first glimpse of great mountain range, yet it seemed to become more and more distant with each hour she spent heading towards it. At least she found a way out of the grasslands –_

_The elleth sat up. “Where am I?” she managed to ask with raspy voice, for she had not recognized any of the bright stars earlier._

_“You will not go any further if you value your miserable life, Wood-Elf,” the first one continued not at all bothered by her question. “The Orcs would kill you should you get any nearer to their pits in those mountains.”_

_“And the Unwilling would certainly do that if you somehow managed to escape the Orcs,” the second added._

_Did he refer to Avari, Elves who had refused to depart from their lands when Oromë had invited them to come with him to Valinor? That would mean she almost reached the eastern end of Arda. Avari remained there, not seen by anyone in Middle-Earth, for they grew ever suspicious of Westerlings, seeing them in their wrath, and would possibly not hesitate to kill any of them should wanderers from West cross their path someday…_

_Thus Orodiel met the Blue Istari who were sent to the Middle-Earth by Valar sooner than other wizards. Later, when she followed those strangers for a while, they finally introduced themselves as Morinehtar and Rómestámo, and claimed that hunt for Darkness had led them this far._

_“The same Darkness as that spreading through your veins, Orodiel Oropheriell,” Rómestámo uttered. “It will consume you shall you fail in search for Light – however, even Light would become scarcer in the world if our mission meets a bitter end.” He stopped, perhaps to think; yet Morinehtar finished his speech._

_“The One shall make a claim of you, for he has not been destroyed. An object to his desire still exists, and thus you have to avoid the Evil – you may be lured into a trap from which is no way out.”_

_She did not understand them until she heard similar words from Elrond Peredhel who would confirm their prediction._

\- - -

King Thranduil decided to send her as a messenger to Lothlórien. He handed her sealed parchment addressed to Lord Celeborn, and ordered her to return swiftly. She was allowed to choose two wardens who would accompany her to the borders of Mirkwood, yet she would continue her journey across he fields of Anduin alone. Orodiel did not know what document she bore; however, she was determined to deliver it as quickly as possible.

Once she reached Lórien, though, she immediately sensed a presence of forest guardians currently training their arrows on her.

“Halt!” their commander raised his hand, standing right before her. Haldir. “We have received no orders regarding your arrival, Lady of Mirkwood,” he said.

“I therefore must apologize for my sudden intrusion, march-warden.”

“What do we owe our gratitude to for your visit?” Haldir asked.

“I bear a message for Lord Celeborn.”…

\- - -

There was dimness inside the inn. Strider was sitting in quiet corner ever watching his surroundings. There was another man sitting opposite to him, talking while smoking his pipe occasionally. “The enemy does not yet know that the Ring has been found,” he said in hushed voice.

“That is well,” the Strider nodded.

“The matter is more complicated; I have made a grave error. I overlooked something important, something dangerous. It concerns the former owner of the Ring.”

“Gollum,” ranger guessed.

The wizard nodded slightly. “How he came by it I do not know. But he’s murderously protective of it; and now he has left his cave, his mind bent to recovering it.”

“Gollum knows, doesn’t he, Gandalf?” Strider looked into his eyes. “He knows the location of it.”

“Yes. Unfortunately, our secret is no longer safe. The foolish Hobbit revealed his name…” Later that evening they agreed on hunt, for the said Gollum had to be tracked down and brought to Gandalf before another should learn true whereabouts of the ring of power.

\- - -

The golden canopies of tall Mallorn trees swayed gently in breeze, whispering stories of whole Ages mingling together into the wind. Lórien was truly enchanted forest where the Lady of Light dwelled, and some sought her counsel here; among them a wizard who arrived to Caras Galadhon.

“Mithrandir.” Galadriel came to him, descending from royal talan with all her gracefulness, her feet barely crushing delicate leaves of fresh green moss.

“Lady Galadriel,” he bowed.

Galadriel fell in step with him. “Have you told her?” she asked, for she had already known what news he brought to Lothlórien.

“No… not yet,” he sighed. “I had to reach the Chieftain of Dúnedain first, with the request to capture Gollum. The meeting has been arranged, but she has to hurry, for he is not to wait.”

“Well, I am sure you can tell her now, then, for she has arrived here shortly after solstice and awaits you.” Galadriel smiled softly and motioned him to follow her. She then continued their conversation. “Is it not cruel towards her? I must ask again whether you are content to risk her sanity, though. The creature would lead her in one direction eventually she surely will not be willing to follow; her memories of certain things have not faded. Even the will of strongest of us may break easily.”

“I’m afraid that we can only hope it won’t come to that, my lady.”

\- - -

“Elendil, forefather, give me the strength, for the future is hidden from me,” a man hidden under worn cloak muttered, lingering before a lonesome statue of ancient king remaining standing among ruins of old. He did not pay attention momentarily, and thus was caught unawares by another person.

“My, my, Strider caught off-guard.”

He turned around immediately, drawing his sword, yet she was quicker. “Orodiel of Mirkwood?” he asked at last, watching the intruder suspiciously. Gandalf had told him about possible joining with the she-elf; however, he did not believe that she would do so since the elves surely had their own problems these days. So many of them were heading towards Grey Havens; and he saw many times now by himself that usually secret paths which they had barely used before were ever more frequented.

“The creature you are seeking passed south-east many weeks ago, Aragorn,” she sheathed her long knives. “I doubt we will catch up with him anytime soon, though; trail has run cold.”

“We must go at once, then,” he nodded.

\- - -

In the woods around Emyn Muil she suddenly halted. “We are not alone,” were Orodiel’s first words she said – or whispered – in days. “Someone is nearing; perhaps he does not know about us yet.” They hid behind the darkened tree trunks.

Only Aragorn showed himself to the approaching stranger. He soon locked him in his clench, preventing him from any movement by pressing sharpened steel to his neck. They exchanged few words before she heard, “You are far away from Arnor, Ranger. And you speak the secret password of Dúnedain, yet I know you not.”

He introduced himself as Arithir son of Argonathir.

Orodiel, although silent, revealed herself after a while – which somehow disconcerted him. He kept eyeing her warily as he answered Strider’s questions about Gollum. At first, he thought that Aragorn was talking about short orc. But then he remembered rumours he had heard during his wandering: there were whispers about blood-drinking monster coming from Ithilien. Some creature was snatching children from cradles or fresh fish from plates, so village people started locking doors and windows for the night.

When they parted, she muttered, “It could be Gollum indeed, yet we should split up and only one of us shall pursue those rumours. However, hundreds of years have passed since an elf was last seen in Ithilien; people may have changed their attitude towards my kind.”

“Do you fear them?”

“Do not mock me, Strider, for the Elder Children hardly fear anything. Yet I have grown cautious in matters with Men. I will accompany you to the borders of Ithilien, yet I will not follow you there.”

“As you wish,” he nodded. Aragorn could nothing but respect Orodiel’s decision. “We will meet in Cormallen in a fortnight, then.”

\- - -

Since there was no trace of their prey lingering in Ithilien any longer, they returned northward. “Strange…” Orodiel was talking more to herself, deciphering the chaotic tracks made by Gollum. She was kneeling in the mud, surrounded by old tracks of horses and men, or maybe orcs. The rising sun was revealing other new sets of footmarks.

“Did you find anything useful?” Aragorn asked. He was standing a few feet from her, searching the ground softened by recent rainfall. However, the footprints were hardly visible in rocky terrain of the highlands.

“He has been avoiding something!” she called to him, standing up. “… But what did warg riders do this far from their usual territories?” Orodiel looked into distance for a moment. And suddenly, it all made sense.

“What do your eyes see?” the Strider muttered, standing beside her.

“He is headed to the Marches of Dagorlad,” she whispered, worried.

_The Dead Marshes._


	10. Stupor

### Chapter ten: STUPOR

The swamps seemed never-ending, stretching from horizon to horizon, and anyone who dared to enter them would never come out again, igniting his own light above watery grave. Since Orodruin re-awoke about fifty years ago, its fumes shrouded the land in darkness. “Watch your step,” she often hissed a warning, although it was unnecessary – they were following one of many crooked narrow hidden paths which were running among puddles of decay and which animals found here so scarcely sometimes used.

Orodiel saw the battle again as if it happened only yesterday. She was passing many bodies of ancient Elves and Men still clad in once shining armour, now rotting down there; their pale ghosts wandering the forlorn battlefield. Yet, as if by some magic spell, their physical shells looked untouched by Time.

_Oropher assembled a great army of his numerous people, and joining with the lesser forces of Malgalad of Lórien he let the host of the Silvan elves to battle._

_Gil-galad told them to wait. He had carefully planned his every move, collecting the elven forces along his way. Yet Oropher made two mistakes at once. His warriors, although hardy and valiant and maybe skilled in combat, were ill-equipped with weaponry in comparison with the Eldar of the West; their light armour could not hold back hard blows delivered by enemy masses. Also, they were independent by nature, hardly bent to one’s will, and thus not disposed to place themselves under the supreme command of Gil-galad. Oropher gave the order to assault earlier than others, and once in motion, his ranks could not be stopped. The Woodland Elves suffered the consequences of Oropher’s irresponsible decision – and they paid dearly. Their losses were more grievous than they need have been; their leader was slain –_

All of sudden, she noticed that Gollum’s trail changed. “He has hidden here for the night,” Orodiel muttered, looking around. Rotting tree trunks and piles of swamp reeds could provide shelter to scarce visitors of the marches; it should not be hard to find one for him, either.

… And so they captured him eventually.

“We promises be very nice, precious! Let us out. Let us out!” desperate cries and howling came from the sack.

With Orodiel’s help, Strider outsmarted Gollum’s cunning at last and caught him. Now the pitiful creature dwelled in sack, and his cursing and lamenting did not cease. No wonder they were followed by pack of orcs soon.

Orcs attacked in broad daylight. Even though Elf and Man dealt with them rather quickly, their attention was diverted momentarily. Moreover, Aragorn got stabbed with poisoned shaft and passed out, thus Orodiel then searched for _Athelas_ frantically. When he gained consciousness again though, Gollum was already gone. He had freed himself from the sack and ran away.

It was difficult to track him down this time, for she was slowed down by weakened Strider. Fortunately, borders of Mirkwood were already in sight, and creature’s tracks let that way, well into forest’s shadow – which became even darker after sunset.

“Leave me here and find him,” he whispered.

“No.”

“You must! I do only slow you down!” Aragorn pressed.

“I cannot leave Isildur’s heir and thus put him in danger,” Orodiel mumbled almost inaudibly.

But he sat down and was already kindling a small fire. “Go!” he urged her.

“Well then,” she sighed with resignation. “I will return for you.”

And she followed the tracks again shortly before she came by their sudden end. He had to be hiding in branches of one of those trees that were surrounding her now.

“Come down, Gollum,” she commanded, spotting him finally, for his enormous eyes shone in the starlight.

“It’s coming. It’s here,” the creature hissed, pointing somewhere to her left.

Single rider on a horse charged upon her swiftly, brandishing a sword. Its blade missed her only by inches. Then he gave out a chilling shriek, and charged her on foot. At that moment, Orodiel knew exactly what was standing before her.

A blade swung in chilly air; yet he missed due to her dodging, even though she lost hold of her sword which then vanished in thick blanket of fallen leaves for a moment. There was one other weapon that remained her. _May it serve you in times of greatest need; when Darkness threatens to swallow your fëa –_

Remembering Galadriel’s words, princess felt a medallion hanging around her neck and hidden by fabric. “Eärendil, the Brightest of Stars!” she cried desperately in Quenya.

A pale light drove the Nazgûl away.

\- - -

She was aware of watch post set near them; the approach of wardens did not take her by surprise.

“Why are you disturbing –“ a tall ellon, apparently their commander, started, yet did not finish, staring at them in disbelief. They could not recognize her at first, but when Strider stumbled, hood slipped from her head. Orodiel was rather feeble after use of magic – for she had used it only once, two Ages ago –, and she was leaning onto him for support. He had found her kneeling and retching in the debris earlier that morning, yet Gollum was nowhere to be seen.

“We are in pursuit of creature rather small in size,” she started. “It is neither Orc nor Man, yet is of great importance to Mithrandir. His tracks have led us here. Perhaps you have seen him by chance.”

“We have him, my lady,” another elf stepped out of formation.

She could almost feel heavy burden falling from her shoulders, then.

\- - -

“What did you learn, Gandalf?” Aragorn asked when only three of them remained in that room.

“The creature’s pitiful,” the wizard puffed on his pipe. “Wretched. But I now know how the Ring came to him. He possessed it long, many lives of his small kind. There’s no possible doubt he made his slow sneaky way mile by mile, step by step, south.” He paused for a moment to ponder his mind before he added, “Down at last – to Mordor.”

“So the Shire’s been on forefronts of our enemy’s thoughts,” Strider uttered. “We must protect it.”

He said nothing.

“Gandalf, the riders in black have crossed the river. I fear the Nine have returned,” he continued.

Orodiel stepped in at last. “They have,” she hissed. “The one I drove away in the woods was Nazgûl indeed…” And she left the chamber without a word afterwards.

“Then the Ring must leave the Shire. I must go at once; shadow of the past once more returns,” Gandalf said gravely. “Nevertheless, by Gollum’s capture, we know the enemy’s next move. Frodo must be protected at all costs.”

“Send the Hobbit to Bree,” Aragorn suggested. “I shall watch over the Ring until you return.”

“Very well.”

\- - -

Gandalf recommended the White Council to trust the Woodland Elves with Gollum’s incarceration before the creature would be interrogated further. Yet what the wizard could not predict was the attack on Limrond and Gollum’s escape.

The orcs arrived at their doorstep almost a year later. They resembled more of an army division than a simple pack wandering the woods randomly, and it was hard to believe their attack had nothing to do with the creature’s stay in elven dungeons. However, the Nine started chasing after the Ring, and none of them accompanied orc army into Mirkwood. Orodiel already knew that they had attempted to track him down in the past, yet Aragorn and she were luckier in the quest. The only question that remained unanswered was whether they really came for him, or if it was meant as a distraction – for Sauron had to know about Council’s sight turned towards the pitiful Gollum because their imminent interest taken in him was obvious. And if indeed it was distraction, then what for.

What was the Dark Lord planning now?

Why would he want Gollum after the creature told him about Shire?

As always, Thranduil came to inspect the assembled ranks. “Why do you have to listen to Mithrandir, sister?” he whispered angrily while leading her aside.

“Although the wisdom of Istari should be unquestionable, I do not have to listen to him, Thranduil. Yet they were sent by Valar to guide us in our fight with evil that once originated in their own circle – and we cannot be helped if we do not listen to their advices.”

“I hardly find any advice in Mithrandir’s riddles,” he frowned. “You must understand that Istari came to the Middle-Earth after Sauron was defeated!”

“He was never defeated.” Orodiel retorted. “Otherwise there would not be half of Mordor knocking on your gates any moment,” she sneered. “Mithrandir has entrusted that creature currently rotting in dungeons to your care. That means if I shall die defending it, preventing it to fall into wrong hands again, so be it.”

“Do not speak of _death_ , Orodiel!” He grasped her shoulders painfully as if to force her to come to senses. A hurt look replaced disdain written all over his face.

“Then do not make me answer for my actions, brother,” she muttered and released herself from his grip. “I do not ask _you_ to believe Mithrandir’s words, after all. I only ask you to believe in me.”

\- - -

The elves drove the orcs out of the forest, eventually, sustaining mostly minor wounds in short battle; but the havoc their attack inflicted created an opportunity for Gollum to escape nonetheless.

“We have to inform Lord Elrond about Gollum’s disappearance,” Orodiel murmured when Thranduil himself dressed her already cleaned wounds.

“It can wait,” he said. His brows furrowed, his fingers brushed over fresh linens. Although elves healed quickly and easily, the king did not want to rush things. “Other matters need to be taken care of first.”

“Yes, there are,” she nodded, looking into his eyes finally. Her mind raced. “There is council to be held in short time in Imladris. I have to attend – Mirkwood shall be represented whilst decision of world’s fate is being made.”

Thranduil searched in her soul, having look of concentration written over his face. He seemed to be considering his next words carefully, for he knew very well that she could do as she would please – should it be with his consent or not. “Yes, you will travel to Imladris, sister,” he muttered after a while, “but under one condition.”

“What?” Orodiel almost barked.

“Legolas shall accompany you – that is my will.”

_\- - -_

_“I know you think that you are not ready to be a king yet, but you have the blood of your Father. You have the blood of Oropher coursing through your veins. It is not your royalty that ensures you the right to sit on the throne – it is fierceness of heart reigned by calmness of mind which you have inherited from him.”_

_Elrond came to Thranduil in quiet, secluded moment to talk to him undisturbed. The heir of Greenwood was still convalescing from his physical wounds after Dagorlad. Those inflicted to his soul would require more time to heal, and talking about his deceased father caused him further pain. However, Woodland could not survive for much longer without king; yet Thranduil was still having doubts about himself._

_“But what if I fail…? What of Orodiel?”_

_“She will follow you as her leader. You were always supposed to take over the throne after your father,” Elrond said matter-of-factly._

_“But I did not expect it would be so soon!” Thranduil almost cried out._

_“Nobody did, my friend.”_

\- - -

The envoys of Mirkwood reached Imladris at dawn, with others following shortly after. There were also Dwarves and Men coming for the Council, and so the Last Homely House hummed with life.

Orodiel arrived with Legolas and three others, requesting to meet with Elrond in urgent matter. The Lord of Rivendell kindly obliged, yet he could not hide his appalment when he heard the news of Gollum’s escape.

“Sauron already knows where the Ring is, my lady,” he told her in his study. “They must have interrogated him before or shortly after his stay in Woodland, for the Nine were sent after the Ring.”

“I am aware of that, Elrond. We found him too late,” Orodiel hissed.

Elrond nodded, his expression grave. “There is one more thing you must know, though. Nazgûls reached Eriador recently, and the Hunt for One has led them to Shire, eventually; yet as far as we know, they have not succeded.”

“Shire…” Orodiel was quietly processing the new information he just gave her. “Did Bilbo Baggins have it all along?” she asked at last.

“Apparently,” Elrond admitted with resignation.

“And how do we know the Ring is not in their possession by now, Elrond?”

“Because the Halfling who bears it has come here.”

Her eyes widened. She could hardly believe any of this.

However, when she did not say anything, Elrond continued. “Strider has led them here from Bree, and although they encountered certain difficulties on the Weathertop – during which Frodo was stabbed with the Morghul shaft – they made it to safety.”

A few moments of silence reigned the study then. She was clearly contemplating her momentarily chaotic thoughts, for their swirling could be seen in her blue eyes. “The old watchtower is far from here; it is indeed miracle that the Hobbit has lived to reach your doorstep…” she finally muttered. “May I see him?”

The Lord could naught but give his consent.

Elrond let Orodiel see the patient. He was still gathering his strength through sleep; and Gandalf the Grey was sitting in a chair beside his bed, smoking a pipe. She caught a glimpse of the wound in Hobbit’s left shoulder before she turned to the ellon, whispering: “You may have saved him from Shadows, but he will bear the consequences of his encounter with Nazgûl for the rest of his life.”

“The consequences surely will be present, my lady, but he will live.”

“Worse thing is that we do not know for sure what those consequences will be,” Gandalf muttered.

\- - -

“Gandalf, we are running out of time,” Elrond said. “The enemy is moving. Sauron’s forces are massing in the East; his eye is fixed on Rivendell. And Saruman, you tell me, has betrayed us. Our list of allies grows thin.”

“His treachery runs deeper than you know. By foul craft, Saruman has crossed Orcs with goblin men. He’s breeding an army in the caverns of Isengard. An army that can move in sunlight and cover great distance at speed. Saruman is coming for the Ring.”

“This evil cannot be concealed by the power of the Elves, then,” Orodiel mumbled. “We do not have the strength to withstand both Mordor and Isengard. Neither do we possess a force to attack any of them openly. Instead, Sauron will attack Gondor and our realms lying in the East, while Saruman clears his path to the West by destroying Rohan. Then, nothing would stop the Darkness from invading Eriador. Finally, Sauron would simply take the Ring, snatching it from cold hands of Frodo’s corpse.”

“This scenario must not happen, my lady,” Gandalf said rather harshly.

“Yet it is most likely to happen from all possible strategies they may be considering, and we both are aware of that, Mithrandir,” she shook her head. “Things may be well in motion already for all we know.”

“The Ring cannot stay here,” Elrond sighed. “This evil belongs to all of Middle-Earth. They must decide now how to end it.” Then, he addressed Gandalf directly. “The time of the Elves is over, my people are leaving these shores. Who will you look to when we've gone? The Dwarves? They toil away in caverns, seeking riches. They care nothing for the troubles of others.”

“It is in Men that we must place our hope,” the wizard retorted.

“Men? Men are weak. The Blood of Númenor is all but spent, its pride and dignity forgotten. It is because of Men the Ring survives,” Orodiel snorted.

And Elrond added: “I was there, Gandalf. I was there three thousand years ago. I was there the day the strength of Men failed.” _When Isildur decided to keep the Ring which should be destroyed, and instead of throwing it into the flames of Orodruin he simply walked out of there with a prize to be kept as a memento._

_… A memento that later brought doom upon his head._

And now was about to bring the same doom upon all of Middle-Earth.

\- - -

“Why is a highborn lady sitting here alone? Aren’t you supposed to be surrounded by other ladies and talk of embroidery or something?” Aragorn was standing behind her, teasing her openly. It was always a jest shared between them. “May I join you?”

Orodiel allowed him to sit on the bench beside her, but said nothing to his teasing today, although she was somehow grateful for his presence. She had been lost in her thoughts before he came; maybe she finally needed a distraction.

“I remember you bringing me here and telling me stories, my lady,” he started after a while, stuffing Old Toby into his pipe. “I loved them, even though I maybe did not pay enough attention to their educational meaning you hid in them. I was always looking forward to the day you would come into library and lead me away – much to Elrond’s disapproval,” he chuckled over that particular memory.

“Many times he came to me and said that I was distracting you from studies; however, most of the important things have never been recorded in written text,” she spoke after a moment of silence.

“I didn’t understand the importance of it all at that time, though.”

“You were told the truth when you came of age, Aragorn, son of Arathorn,” Orodiel whispered. “Exactly as your mother wished; neither sooner nor later. She wanted to protect her child. She thought that in Rivendell you would be safe. In her heart your mother knew you would be hunted all your life; yet she trusted Elrond Peredhel could provide you with carefree childhood. And my stories could only pass so much to you.”

“One day, I waited as usual, but you never showed. Later, I learnt from Lindir that you were already gone.”

“That happened so long ago, Aragorn. Why are you telling me this now?”

“I’ve always loved your stories, regardless the meanings hidden behind your words.” He repeated himself.

“And you would like to hear another one,” she said, turning to the man beside her. “Perhaps my last story since you are over eighty now?” smallest of smiles lightened her features. Now she paid him his teasing back. “What would you like to hear?”

“Forgive me for asking, but I’m rather curious, my lady: You’ve never told me what happened between you and your brother,” Aragorn asked with amusement twinkling in his eyes.

“I have told no one, although many have guessed by now. And please, do not _lady_ me further, Strider, for no lady would sit here with _dirty vagabond_ _Ranger_.” Orodiel tried to play offended with him, but she could not maintain the solemn face forever; and soon she burst with soft laughter as he pretended to inspect his clothes for any stains with confused expression.

“I mean it. What does drive you from king Thranduil so often?”

“Sibling rivalry, I guess,” she sighed at last.

\- - -

“… But you have nothing to fear, Master Meriadoc, for there certainly are no more Ents west of Misty Mountains… Or are they, Lindir?” she glanced towards the minstrel with risen eyebrow.

Yet the tall ellon looked confused. “I must apologize, my lady, for I do not possess such knowledge.” He could not hide his amusement, though. Today, he discovered a great talent of storytelling in Orodiel. At least he could not say that he had ever heard – or read – of Awakening of Tree Herders in her version: about first elves waking trees, teaching them their language and telling them a story about Loss of Entwives who never existed in her story. Ofcourse it was a fantasy in its purest form; yet it still brought both joy and sadness into hearts of listeners.

Both Halflings that Lord Elrond had asked them to keep occupied stifled a yawn. It was well past midnight, they should be put to beds or something.

“They are grown men, Lindir, although they cannot behave themselves,” Orodiel murmured softly into his ear, sensing his doubts. It was strangely intimate move, and he had to suppress involuntary shiver. She then rose from the divan, whispering: “I will return shortly.” And she took the Hobbits to their quarters.

When she, deeply in thoughts, slowly retraced her footsteps through silent halls and archways, she literally bumped into Legolas. He was currently examining the paintings depicting the history of Middle-Earth.

“You have never told me,” he whispered absent-mindedly to her.

“What?” Orodiel asked, confused.

“Why do you not seek your happiness with Lindir, aunt? He is obviously in love with you and you must have noticed some time ago, yet you usually act with sheer coldness towards him.” His eyes slid from the fresco illuminated with starlight to her.

“It is not so simple, Legolas,” she said.

“Father would want you to be happy; he would not stand in your way nor would punish you should you let yourself be guided by your heart… Even if you decided upon leaving for Undying Lands, he would not stop you, although your departure would surely break his heart. However, here in Rivendell, I could not but notice that it is you who restrain yourself from happiness; and I do not understand…”

‘Perhaps you will one day,” she sighed with heavy heart. “It pains me to see him suffer –”

“Yet fear will not allow you to act,” he finished softly.

Orodiel hesitated for a brief moment, thoughts swirling in her mind. “You will understand in your own time, Legolas. I have pledged my fealty to your father, and only the King’s command could release me from that oath.” _Furthermore, I am nothing more than a name on some politic contract potentially favourable for the kingdom…_

“And you still do believe it – even after all those little acts of rebellion?” There was actually a smile playing on Legolas’s lips.

“My beliefs are not relevant in these matters,” she mumbled. “Now, if you will excuse me…” She took her leave.

Yet when she arrived where she had left Lindir, he was already gone. How foolish of her to believe the minstrel would wait until she returned. Of course he had better things to occupy himself with.

Orodiel let out a deep sigh and laid on divan, hiding her face in her palms and thus preventing the silent tears to be seen. She paid no mind to cold air blowing there through open window.


	11. Strong-willed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Council meeting dialogue was practically adopted from the movie script, so I should thank to Fran Walsh and Philippa Boyens, I think... Moreover, it was really pain in the *ss to incorporate another character into such a piece of art; and I do suffer from some inferiority complex these days and everything sucks. Eh.

### Chapter eleven: STRONG-WILLED

The Council was finally summoned. All envoys who came to Rivendell met in a circle. Lord Elrond stood. “Strangers from distant lands, friends of old,” he started. “You have been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor. Middle-Earth stands upon the brink of destruction. None can escape it. You will unite or you will fall. Each race is bound to this fate, this one doom.” His eyes settled on the Halfling sitting beside the wizard. “Bring forth the Ring, Frodo.”

The Hobbit stood and walked over to the stone plinth in the centre of the circle, putting the Ring down on it. The heavy burden falling from his heart was palpable.

“So it’s true,” the Man of Gondor muttered, covering his mouth with a hand to muffle his words.

Orodiel sensed Legolas tense beside her. She heard it too, the whisper in Black Speech. “Do not listen to it, Legolas. Do not let the Darkness cloud your mind,” she hissed almost inaudibly.

The Man continued, still watching the Ring rather curiously. “In a dream, I saw the Eastern sky grow dark. In the West, a pale light lingered. A voice was crying,” he rose from his chair and approached the plinth; “ _’Your doom is near at hand. Isildur’s Bane is found.’_ Isildur’s Bane,” he stretched his hand towards the Ring –

– Only to be stopped by Elrond’s shout. “Boromir!”

It seemed that Gandalf wanted to say something, but Orodiel was faster. “One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them; One Ring to bring them all, and in the Darkness bind them,” she merely repeated the whisper in Black Speech that all Elves – and perhaps the Dwarves, too – heard coming from the golden band.

It both horrified and angered Elrond. “Never before has anyone uttered words of that tongue in Imlardis, Orodiel Oropheriell,” he said reprehensively, disgust sneaking into his voice.

“I am –” she started to apologize, but was cut off by the wizard.

“She does not have to ask your pardon, Master Elrond,” Gandalf defended Orodiel’s deeds, “for the Black Speech of Mordor may yet be heard in every corner of the West.” Then he addressed everyone present: “The Ring is altogether evil.”

But Boromir shook his head in denial of wizard’s words. “Aye, it is a gift!” he cried. “A gift to the foes of Mordor. Why not use this Ring?” He began walking around the circle. “Long has my father, the Steward of Gondor, kept the forces of Mordor at bay. By the blood of _our_ people are _your_ lands kept safe! Give Gondor the weapon of the enemy, let us use it against him!”

“Pray tell me, Boromir, son of Denethor, why should your demand be fulfilled?” Orodiel could not listen to him any longer. “Its power would only corrupt the hearts of Men – as it did with Isildur. Then, Gondor would become Sauron’s liege, and would turn against its former allies completely.”

“Since when does a woman have a say in men’s business?” he was harsh in his question.

“Since she witnessed the fall of kingdoms you have certainly never even dreamt of,” she simply replied, maintaining her regained calmness.

“The lady is right; you cannot wield it. None of us can,” Aragorn intervened. “The One Ring answers to Sauron alone. It has no other master.”

“And what would a Ranger know of this matter?” Boromir asked scathingly.

Suddenly, Legolas stood up to Strider’s defence. “This is no mere Ranger,” the ellon started. “He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance.” Looks of many turned to the Dúnedain, amazement written in faces of witnesses.

“Aragorn!” Boromir cried in disbelief. “This… is Isildur’s heir –”

“And heir to the throne of Gondor,” Legolas finished.

“Sit down, Legolas,” Aragorn held his hand up, talking in Sindarin.

The man turned to the elves. “Gondor has no King.” He took a seat then, muttering: “Gondor needs no King.”

“We cannot use it; therefore only one choice remains,” Orodiel said aloud to howl down the murmurs and whispers among envoys.

Elrond spoke up: “The Ring must be destroyed.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” A red-haired dwarf rose from his seat and grabbed his axe, trying to destroy the accursed Ring with a single blow – unsuccessfully. He was thrown onto the floor, shatters of his axe lying around him, whilst the Ring remained undamaged on the stone.

“The Ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli, son of Glóin, by any craft that we here possess. The Ring was made in the fires of Mount Doom; only there can it be unmade. It must be taken deep into Mordor and cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came,” Elrond said, adding, “One of you… must do this.”

The Council dived into silence before Boromir was heard again. “One does not simply walk into Mordor,” he shouted. “Its black gates are guarded by more than just orcs. There is evil there that does not sleep, and the Great Eye is ever watchful. ‘Tis a barren wasteland, riddled with fire and ash and dust. The very air you breathe is a poisonous fume. Not with ten thousand men could you do this,” he shook his head. “It is folly.”

Legolas jumped to his feet before Orodiel could stop him. “Have you heard nothing Lord Elrond has said? The Ring must be destroyed!”

“And I suppose you think you’re the one to do it,” Gimli scoffed at him but the elf paid him no mind.

“And if we fail – what then? What happens when Sauron takes back what is his?” Boromir stood up.

“He would finally finish what he intended to do so long ago; only now it would be quicker,” Orodiel sighed. She could imagine what world would look like under Sauron’s rule. She had glimpsed some of it in her dreams of late.

“I will be dead before I see the Ring in the hands of an elf!” Gimli exclaimed, standing. “Never trust an elf!” he then shouted towards the elven party.

The arguing started, and only few did not join it. Orodiel felt that oddly, the golden band reacted to it. Like the Ring itself approved of disputes and despair – or better; like it caused them. “Do you not understand?” she whispered at first, then repeated it much louder for everyone to hear. “Do you not understand that while we bicker amongst ourselves, Sauron’s power grows? None can escape it. You all will be destroyed!” However, it was to no avail.

“I will take it,” she heard the Halfling say, and turned to him while he continued. “I will take it. I will take the Ring to Mordor.” Now he had their attention. He gulped, watching hopelessly all eyes upon him. “Tho’, I do not know the way.”

Gandalf the Grey was first to stand behind his protégé. “I will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins, as long as it is yours to bear.” He looked at him kindly, then, smiling, shifted his eyes towards Elrond.

“If by my life or death I can protect you, I will,” Aragorn said, walking to Frodo. When he kneeled before him, he swore: “You have my sword.”

“And you have my bow,” Legolas added.

“And my axe,” Gimli joined them.

“You carry the fate of us all, little one,” Boromir spoke up, and approached the group. Orodiel was prepared to step in should he try something, but he only added: “If this is indeed the will of the Council, then Gondor will see it done.”

“Mr Frodo’s not going anywhere without me!” a cry came from the nearby bushes. Another Halfling emerged from them afterwards.

“No, indeed it is hardly possible to separate you, even when he is summoned to a secret council and you are not!” Elrond scolded the newcomer theatrically.

“Wait! We’re coming too!” another two Hobbits ran to them. These two Orodiel knew. “You’d have to send us home tied up in a sack to stop us!” Then the other said something that arose bicker between them.

Elrond eyed them for a moment before he finally said: “Nine companions… So be it. You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring!”

\- - -

Later that evening, the wizard, elves and Dúnedain met in Elrond’s study. They had to plan the quest thoroughly – and carefully, for lately, the lands were becoming infested with Sauron’s spies.

“I must express my doubts about that Halfling. Strong he can be, he may never reach Orodruin, though,” Orodiel sighed. She was leaning into her grip of the table on which a map laid spread. “Should something go wrong, the fate of all Middle-Earth lies at a stake… Why him, Mithrandir? What makes him so special that we lay such burden onto his shoulders? And what terrifies me even more – we do so willingly; as if it meant we would need to worry us no more?”

“I your concerns are legitimate, my lady; though if I have learnt something during my rather short stay with their folk, it is that the Hobbit has shown extraordinary resilience to evil. There is courage in his heart, as it once was in that of his uncle.”

“That does not mean he will succeed in this quest, Mithrandir. This is no mere reclaim of Erebor.”

“Of that I am painfully aware, my lady,” Gandalf nodded.

Legolas took Orodiel’s hand into his gently, whispering reassuringly: “I will not let it slip from my sight.”

“I know you will not,” she turned to him. “But what am I to say to the King about his only child leaving yet again? Only this time it is not to find Dúnedain of the North, but to step into beast’s lair.” A tear glistened in the corner of her eye. She really liked him, and did not want to lose him, either. “Maybe I should have offered to join this quest in your stead,” she muttered after a moment of pregnant silence.

“That would be most unwise, my Queen,” Elrond opposed her decision.

“Although my destiny can be bound tightly with that of Middle-Earth – as you once told me, my lord – I shall be no Queen, for there is no land I could rule. Besides, there is an army that will come to our borders in Greenwood shortly; I saw it shortly after our reception in here. My place is beside my brothers and sisters in arms.”

The Lord of Imladris said nothing to that; he only smiled mysteriously – as if he had foreseen something recently.

\- - -

Orodiel could not decide whether to stay in Rivendell for a while longer, or if she was at last prepared to face wrath of her brother – because he would be surely angry with his son’s decision.

She could be found wandering in vast gardens for days after the Council. Suddenly, a figure appeared in front of her. It was Lindir. She did not see him since the evening of storytelling – and although lack of his presence grieved her, she had hardly any time to worry about it during negotiations. “I have thought you are avoiding me,” she managed to say at last. “Have I done something wrong again?”

“Why? No, my lady. It was me who wronged you.” A slight blush appeared on his cheeks and tips of ears. He averted his sight nervously, waiting for her to demand an explanation – yet none came; so he offered one. “I thought you would never return.”

“Oh, I am so sorry, Lindir, but I came back; only it was perhaps too late…” she shook her head.

“I know, my lady.” And in his mind, he added: _I watched you…_

\- - -

“He truly is a fool, brother,” Elrohir mused, hidden behind dense bushes.

“What would you want, brother? He is a minstrel. And although he may sing to our sister all those beautiful songs of love, he would not recognize one even if he literally stumbled over it,” Elladan sighed.

To both siblings, Lindir seemed unbelievably short-sighted in certain matters. They learned long ago that he was head over heels in love with Mirkwood princess who truly had to appear to any ellon as none less than ethereal.

Surely, she had to be beautiful once, yet constant warring and worries made her appearance always so sad and sorrowful. When she first arrived to Rivendell, all elflings from there assembled and begged her to tell them stories; for Orodiel was extraordinary storyteller – which even their father admitted after overhearing the tale of Fall of Númenor.

Or was it about Silmarils? –

Aside from her stories, brothers enjoyed her presence for many afternoons afterwards. Like them, she was fond of sparring from time to time. And since she had spent many years in the Last Homely House, they had had many occasions to assess the abilities of each other with various weapons. The Sindarin were not known for their extensive wisdom, after all.

“Do we have any other plan left?”

“What plan?” a voice said behind their backs.

The siblings turned in fear that their father stood there. However, it was none other than Glorfindel, his confused look framed by golden locks.

\- - -

… “Is something wrong?” Orodiel frowned, eyeing the ellon approaching her.

“We must ta-” he stopped himself mid-sentence, then tried again. “I mean I have to tell you an important thing.” Lindir nervously sat beside her without asking; that was not like him. He had to be upset by something, for he did not act like himself. He even took her hands into his gently, and she could not but stare on it in disbelief.

“I-I apologize, my lady!” he cried and released her at once.

“You seem disconcerted, Lindir. Why?”

He blushed lightly under her gaze; just a lovely shade of pink creeped into his cheeks and tips of his pointy ears. He cleared his throat before he spoke. “My lord Elrond intends to send me to Mithlond soon.”

“Grey Havens,” she breathed out.

He nodded. “I am to accompany Lady Arwen on her journey to Valinor.”

“But it Lady Arwen leaves for Valinor, she will never find her happiness,” Orodiel whispered, looking away from him for a moment. “But perhaps… yes,” she mused, talking aloud to herself.

“What, my lady?”

“Nothing…,” she said almost inaudibly before she raised her voice again. “Please, let me wish you safe journey, then, my dear friend,” she smiled; but it was one of those smiles filled with sadness that she offered him today.

“Thank you, my lady,” Lindir bowed slightly. Then, he reached to his pocket. “I wanted to give you this before your return to the woods.” There was a letter bearing a seal of Elrond’s household in his hands. “Many things unspoken remain between us, and although we may not be granted enough time so I could tell you everything personally, at least I have written it here.”

Orodiel was taken aback momentarily, and she had to blink away a few tears welling in her eyes before she could talk again. “That is very kind of you indeed, Lindir,” she muttered.

“However, before I hand it over,” he made a nervous pause, “I have a request.”

“Anything for you, mellon nîn.”

He had to calm himself before he could speak again. “You have to promise me you will not read it before you leave Imladris.”

A strange request indeed.

“But why?” Orodiel asked softly.

“Please –” uneasiness crept into his voice which came out as almost inaudible. “It is… my wish,” he breathed out nervously. He sounded strangled.

“And I will respect it; I promise,” she whispered after a while, eyeing his shaky hands. Only then he allowed her to take the letter carefully from him and hide it within her robes.

That evening, many tears were shed in privacy of her chambers –

– Yet the writing remained sealed.


	12. Scarlet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shortly after Elrond's Council, Orodiel has to return home. However, it is now certain that Legolas will not join her; instead, memories haunt her, plaguing her mind when she needs to focus on other matters fully: In the Woodland Realm, on brink of final stage of war, measures have to be taken, so Elves could stand a chance to live to see another day - for Orc masses from Dol Guldur are knocking on Thanduil's door.

### Chapter twelve: SCARLET

_"Lord Glorfindel!” she cried in surprise when he appeared in front of her._

_He immediately blocked her way out, and gesturing a greeting by placing a hand over his heart, he said, “We have known each other for so long… We should have dropped the titles by now, don’t you think?”_

_“Although I feel ancient, my lord, I am but a mere elfling compared to you. I have to show my respect towards elders.” Orodiel lowered her gaze._

_“Cannot we remain friends, though?”_

_She gulped nervously. “We surely can.”_

_“Good.” The ellon smiled charmingly. He then drew even nearer before asking her seductively in whisper: “Would you perhaps pay me a visit tonight?”_

\- - -

She was restless. After her return to Woodland, Orodiel was led strictly to the Elvenking, and with heavy heart confessed to him about his son’s departure with the Fellowship, fearing an outrage from him. Yet none of storms came; he dismissed her with scorn instead – for she had not prevented Legolas from joining the Fellowship –, now pondering every possibility concerning the movement of the Ring. Nevertheless, watch at their borders was doubled, thus nothing should go unnoticed before their king. Orodiel herself could not be granted any time for peaceful meditation because was put in charge of preparations for attack that could come any time.

She summoned Meludir, a rather young ellon, to assist her on her mission. She often entrusted him with minor tasks and sent him to carry them out. Meanwhile, she kept herself occupied. Recently, she was working on deathly gifts for orc scouts they were encountering more frequently now. One day, he came upon her standing before dissected albinotic scolopendra lying on the table from which she was currently extracting subforpicular glands containing deadly venom. He froze mid-step, eyeing her curiously.

The tissue had to be handled with utmost care for she knew first-hand how bothersome the slightest dose of venom could be for an elf when spreading through his or her bloodstream. It was not her wish to experience it once more.

“My lady,” Meludir said at last to acknowledge his presence, feeling uncomfortable in the proximity of dead animal.

“Any news?” she asked without looking up on him.

“The King will be summoning council meeting in the morning. Your attendance is requested,” he averted his gaze from the table, for his stomach started protesting against both the view and strange sweetish stench of rotting viscera.

“I will attend the meeting, of that you can be sure,” she said, ripping the remnants of venom pouches off their original position within the carcass. “However, I must finish this first…” With that, she squeezed the mucous secretion into a bowl to mix the substance with mashed poisonous berries.

This time, Meludir had to turn his back to her for he felt bile rising in his stomach. “Is it really necessary, my lady?” he asked with uneasiness in his voice.

“What?” she glanced towards him.

“All of… this,” the ellon gestured to the scolopendra, and grimaced wryly and gulped, trying very hard not to puke.

“I have made my calculations, Meludir,” she almost whispered. “Should there come many, we may not be able to face them in combat. Poisoned arrows are our chance to endure – as long as our true numbers are hidden within safety of trees, the enemy may yet be easily confused. Even more when they come down dead on spot one by one.” Although Orodiel did not believe her own words – for those creatures were bred for sole purpose –, she attempted not to scare him unnecessarily.

\- - -

_Fortunes of the world will rise and fall; but here in this kingdom we will endure._

Those words of Thranduil were said long ago; however, now the circumstances changed dearly. The time of elves in Middle-earth thus ran short rapidly; they were leaving its shores for Valinor in ever increasing masses. Even in Mirkwood, many families decided to travel to Grey Havens hence their forces thinned.

Orodiel entered the deserted hall where councillors would meet later. Though early, her brother – who was usually the one arriving last – was already sitting in the head of long table, obviously pestered by his troubled mind. He did not notice her at first – she already passed behind him soundlessly when he registered soft rustling of her robe as she gently laid her hand on Thranduil’s shoulder. He noticeably tensed under that simple touch. “We have not received word of enemy’s advancement yet, my lord,” she muttered, eliciting a nod of confirmation from him.

“We do have many more important matters to discuss than that, I believe,” he said after a while, watching her as Orodiel took a seat to his right. “How would our precautions made ever be of use when majority of my subjects fled these halls?” he mused quietly yet audibly. “I cannot persuade them to stay and be slain in name of uncertainty, for we may yet lose our home. Besides, there is always notion of better life overseas. And I cannot have the main gates sealed to prevent my subjects from going anywhere… What king would I be, then? Perhaps a tyrant, yes. A tyrant who would let his people be slaughtered because of his pride.” For the first time in many years of his reign Thranduil let his sister see him clueless. With head buried in hands, he studied her stoicism through his fingers. A thought rather dangerous began forming in his mind –

When others joined the meeting, the King rose from his carven seat. “Thank you for coming,” he bowed slightly, “for in this dire situation we need to brace ourselves against enemy marching upon this kingdom. We have to agree upon dealing with consequential issues that threaten us at this instant.”

“What are you implying, my king?”

“Immediate cancellation of trade, to start with.”

“But we cannot withhold our obligations towards King Bain in Dale so simply, my king!” Lord Daeron cried in protest. “Should the trade between kingdoms cease all of sudden, what would he think of the Woodland?”

“It would be temporary, Daeron,” the Elvenking said.

“That is more easily said than done!” the lord muttered, probably mildly confused. “Forgive me, my king, but to cancel trade there have certain preparations to be made first. It has to be announced to all parties included and follow protocols –”

“Do not try to find useless excuses, my lord. We shall send messengers with warning instead of merchants with silk, for Sauron is surely marching towards Erebor, too,” Orodiel opposed. “Trade can wait, war cannot.”

“Surely we are safe within these halls,” the ellon babbled.

She frowned. “Unless your family wants to flee to Valinor through non-existent underground passage rather than wait within these walls to be slain mercilessly, my lord Daeron, we most certainly are not. Darkness spreads quickly through these lands, and is more powerful than ever.”

“About doom you talk, my lady, yet I see none,” another councillor started.

“For you are terribly short-sighted in these matters, I fear,” Thranduil scorned him immediately.

\- - -

Council went on till the late night without any end in sight – it was as long as meeting of the Ents one would say. The king had to suspend it at last, leaving other crucial discussion points for the next day.

“We should bring the outflow of our people to an end, my king,” Lord Cugredhion bowed his head, “for our best warriors are among them, leaving these lands. Soon, the borders would be left defenceless. Perhaps banning certain individuals from hastened departure would solve that?”

Thranduil lifted his hand to stop the councillor. “I cannot hold my people against their will here when war is upon us – what king would that make me, my lord? They are of free folk after all, and should decide whether to defend their homes or leave of their own will. Besides, I have already requested the most skilled wardens to report for duty,” he said. “Today, we shall decide where to encounter the enemy should it come to the worst.”

“As you wish, my king. But… forgive my boldness, for I have to ask: where is lady Orodiel? Should she not attend the war council?”

“She should and she will, Cugredhion. However, she is currently running an errand for me in forges.” He paused for a brief moment before uttering more words. “Surely you will make do without her presence for now, I presume?”

“Of course,” the ellon gulped, now shifting his attention to the map of Rhovanion carved in the wooden desk of the long table.

\- - -

Every moment Orodiel closed her eyes, she saw – and heard – Lindir’s shy and innocent words that he left to her in his letter. _That thrice damned letter…_ Why did she find courage to open it? To read it? Maybe if she did not learn about true depth of his feelings, she could be at peace. Yet his seemingly innocent love proposal ruined it all – or did it really?

His voice reading those words plagued her mind and did not allow her to rest.

_My dearest of Muses,_

_The moment your most lovely eyes will see these humble first words, I will be probably boarding one of finest ships to be carried away from you under her unsullied sails. Yet I would be standing on bridge, scanning the shores of Middle-Earth for your presence, hoping that one day you would eventually follow, my Sun and Stars._

_You do not realize of course how fascinatingly beautiful you have always been, my lady, and how strangely you have acquired an added, special and dangerous liveliness in my eyes. Ever since I first laid my eyes upon you, I fell in love with what I saw: a brave elleth floating in the pale morning light illuminating the gardens. She held herself proudly yet did not utter a single word; still, she enchanted my heart. Could this ethereal being descend from the skies and reciprocate my feelings? Could she possibly demean herself to love a lowly ellon like me? A hope against hope; however, Valar granted me my wish, for the captor of my heart – you – finally noticed me. I beg to know expressly your intention touching the love between us. Necessity compels me to obtain this answer, having been decades wounded by the dart of love, and not yet sure whether I shall fail or find a place in your attention._

_Yet I cannot but see that you have suffocated the happiness within you voluntarily. Every time you appeared in Rivendell, I saw the brightest of lights slowly fading, so I cherished every slightest moment when happiness lit your blue depths of eyes, waiting to drown in them. I wish you could unlock the chains from your heart and let yourself grow, let yourself be happy once more._

_Cannot we read each other’s mind? Do not we know what the other wants without asking? Perhaps we would belong together should the circumstances be different – because I have no choice but to respect your decision. My love has made me selfish; and maybe sometimes I have taken you for granted, although I have absolutely no right to do so. I feel like I cannot exist without you – I am forgetful of everything but seeing you again; yet unfortunately it shall not be granted to us I fear._

_Often I meditate on it and realise how lucky I can count myself to at least fantasise of sharing my miserable life with the greatest woman I ever met. You fascinate and inspire me. You influence me for the better. You are object of my desire. However, can my love for you persist otherwise than through sacrifices; than by demanding everything of me?_

_Please, my lady, let me make one last sacrifice. Allow me to cherish you, to keep your reflection fondly in my heart for the rest of my days. Let me bring memory of you to the Undying Lands, for though I respect your decision to remain true to your Chosen, I cannot live without reminder – token of our unfulfilled love…_

Could he possibly be ignorant of what happened between her and Lord Glorfindel in Imladris?

\- - -

“It is said that you have supplied my watch with enough poisoned arrows to kill every single Orc in Mordor,” the king muttered as their swords clashed mid-air. Sun was already setting when he openly approached her earlier with request to distract him. For long he sat in the chamber listening to councillors; in the evening, he sought to spar with Orodiel. Whether her somehow hasty acceptance – because she needed a distraction, too – should surprise him, he did not know.

“Hardly enough to stop the first wave of attack, Thranduil,” she opposed stepping back into defensive stance briskly, yet raising her sword toward him enticingly. “However, when it proves deathly, it will weaken enemy’s first blow considerably.”

He answered her invitation with an abrupt movement. “What about antidote?” he asked, charging to her left side.

Orodiel parried. While avoiding the ostensibly menacing blow, she cried: “None has been made! Your wardens should better watch out for accidentally wounding themselves, else they would perish in excruciating pain.”

“Why did you bother with such perilous task then when there is such a risk?” Thranduil frowned.

She said nothing for a while, letting the weapons engage in swordplay fully. In one unguarded moment, she ended stumbling over something just to find herself on the floor in one heartbeat. She saw him smirk at her, yet she did not expect him to extend his hand to help her up again. And although he did exactly that, she stubbornly got to her feet at her own accord rather to accept his aid.

Their sparring blazed with new vigour. The siblings were tireless; they took turns in lunges against each other, sending the opponent to the ground occasionally and forgetting about their problems for a time.

Finally, swinging his sword in an arc aimed perfectly across her neck, Thranduil intended to win this round. However, Orodiel avoided the blow, and with a swerve of blade managed to slash through his sleeve. She thus exposed his skin underneath, yet drew not a single drop of blood. Suddenly fearing that she perhaps went too far, carried away by adrenaline, she began to lower her weapon in a subconscious show of retreat –

But he only chuckled, the light of many lanterns flickering in his eyes. Most of his warriors would be terrified of the notion of fighting their king and would undoubtedly let him win in all circumstances; yet his sister was more daring than others. “You would not back out of battle when it gets interesting, Orodiel, would you now,” he teased her.

“Perhaps not.” Even though she was breathing heavily, he knew that her strength was not fully spent yet, so he charged against her again. Both of them would be retiring utterly exhausted and with their muscles aching pleasantly in early morning hours.


	13. Scorn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In rather strange dreams, Orodiel finds herself back in the First Age. Some memories better should not be spoken of.

### Chapter thirteen: SCORN

_"Ada! Ada!” a little elfling was shouting, clutching a little toy bow triumphantly in her gloved hands. Her blonde hair was flying behind her as she ran to tall elven lord, having her arms outstretched to him._

_“Hello, little one,” he smiled and lifted her from the ground. “So, what mischief have we done today?” he murmured with honey-like voice._

_“Rilien teaches me to use my bow!” she said, her little body swarming with pride._

_“Rilien?” the ellon asked with confusion. Could it be that perhaps his wife hired a mentor for their daughter behind his back? Although their younger child was already well known rascal throughout the Halls of Menegroth and beneath, she barely gained confidence in her movements and could still be rather clumsy sometimes. It seemed like yesterday when she took her first steps. Oropher hoped for her to grow up into fair maiden someday, yet Lady Lassiel secretly supported her daughter’s dreams so the elfling soon ran wild._

_“He said I did well today,” she grinned as a vixen._

_“Is that so?” he asked as other ellon approached them. It could be no other than his daughter’s said teacher, Rilien. Even though Oropher was smiling at his child, his cold stare pierced the mentor, caution and perhaps hostility emanating from his eyes._

_“Of course, my lord,” the ellon bowed respectfully. “Your beautiful daughter possesses rather unusual gift; she is talented, and it would be my honour to continue mentoring her if you allowed it.”_

_“Who are you to consider yourself suitable to be my daughter’s teacher?” Oropher barked his question rather harshly at him._

_“Forgive me, my lord, for I am Rilien, nephew of Beleg Cúthalion.”_

_“Strongbow’s kin, eh? I suppose he himself taught you the art of archery,” Oropher said more kindly._

_“That he did,” Rilien affirmed and lowered his gaze, awaiting Oropher’s decision meekly._

_“Well, I will consider your kind offer, then, mellon. But you shall consider yourself relieved of your duties towards my daughter today for she has yet other lessons to attend to.”_

_“As you wish, my lord.”_

_\- - -_

_“What would the King think of her, Lassiel? What would he think of us? That we cannot raise our own children right?” Oropher, though raging inside, did not lose his temper in front of his wife yet._

_“Our son proved to be a bright child, melamin. Are you not pleased with his rather swift progress?” his wife was eyeing him from her seat beside fire. She shivered occasionally, for the weather was cold these days and snow fell heavily upon the woodlands._

_“Yes, I am,” his features softened for a moment. Thranduil was talented indeed. “But what does it have to do with our daughter?”_

_“Do you not see? You are fine example for Orodiel; she respects you. Ellith do not need to stay quiet and embroider while ellyn fight their wars – at least you did not marry me for my splendid needlework, did you?”_

_“The world became dangerous, though. I want to secure a great future for our daughter – perhaps on King’s court, as a ward of Thingol or Melian –”_

_Lady Lassiel rose from her chair, and drawing her fur-hemmed cloak closer to her chilled body, she came to him. “Our daughter deserves a chance to prove herself, too, Oropher,” she whispered, kissing his cheek lightly. Then, she nestled against his body, craving his touch desperately; and he happily obliged, wrapping her in his arms. He could not be angry with her, anyway._

_“Still, you should not give her everything she wants.”_

_“Oh, do I now?”_

_\- - -_

_Parents always dreaded the day their children would come to them requesting a permission to leave for their first watch. As was a tradition in Doriath, adolescents who desired to serve as wardens one day were sent with them to spend fifty years in wild. Yet it seemed that this said tradition existed rather formally than practically._

_“Do you really have to go, iell nîn?” Lady Lassiel asked with saddened heart. She would never imagine that she would have to part with her daughter so soon._

_“It is my wish, naneth,” Orodiel replied. Although she was younger than average ellyn and ellith gaining their first experience through living in the forests with other wardens, her parents should be honoured that she was chosen for it and approved by the king._

_“Well, then do not wander too far from the borders,” her mother mumbled, kissing her forehead. She could not prevent her tears from falling freely, though._

_“I will not, that I promise.”_

_Lassiel smiled on her daughter proudly._

_\- - -_

_The pitch-black darkness was suddenly replaced by painfully bright light in one harsh movement which took off a hood that had covered Orodiel’s head and thus prevented her from memorizing possible escape route._

_“My, my, what do we have here?” a hideous grin deformed otherwise graceful features of dark-haired Noldo who bent towards her slightly. “A wildling, I do believe?” His grey eyes bore trace of well-hidden mischief. The elvish language he was talking in did not make sense to her. It was unsettling. “You would not be afraid of me, now, would you?” he grabbed her by her chin and lifted her head so their gazes locked eventually._

_She frowned in frustration, pulling on her restraints in vain._

_“The elf of Doriath, I suppose?” the stranger turned to his companions, still talking in Quenya. Her blonde hair and pale-blue irises were prominent, characteristic for the Grey-elves of the forest kingdom in South._

_“Yes, my lord Egalmoth.”_

_“A subject to Elwë Singollo, then. Yet so young… She is but a child.” He seemed to be pleased by this._

_“She was wandering around the Secret Pass for many days, my lord. She as well may be lost – it is many days’ travel to reach Halls of Menegroth from our outpost. There is nothing but wasteland in between.” That was not entirely true; however, even the boldest march-wardens of Elu Thingol did not journey so far northwards._

_“Well, she will not be returning there any time soon.”_

_Orodiel was not, indeed, for they brought her to the Hidden Kingdom, Gondolin – seat of Turgon, the High King of Noldor. For them, she was equal to savages. Sindarin elves were considered less wise, more brutal and uncivilized, unable to live in a city and thus surviving in wilderness like animals they were; or worse, in underground caves like Dwarves. Furthermore – and above all other flaws Noldor found in them, Sindar did not cherish knowledge._

_She was treated like an illiterate beast they saw in her at first. They let her fight – with blunt knives, of course – to entertain otherwise bored nobility; she valued those days, for could not be able to find better lessons in weaponry, and quickly improved. She became a pet they kept for fun. Furthermore, they went on with teasing her, addressing her in language she struggled to understand fully, although they could speak Sindarin in Gondolin, nonetheless._

_\- - -_

_One day, Turgon’s sister-son Maeglin challenged her to fight. Although young himself, he was decades older than her. Still, her clumsiness was long gone, replaced with dexterity._

_“I will not raise a weapon, although harmless, against royalty, for injuring you may yet cost me my life – that is the law, and neither me nor you are above it,” Orodiel took a few steps backwards._

_A cold steel of his sword pressed against her shoulder suddenly, pricking the skin in the crook of her neck slightly. “You will do as I command,” he hissed dangerously, “otherwise I will free your pretty yet hollow head from your pitiful shoulders.”_

_“Would you dare?” she held his gaze defyingly._

_As if he reigned his emotions, Maeglin stepped back, saying, “If you sparred with me, my uncle would allow you to leave Gondolin.” Something had to flicker in her eyes momentarily and thus betray her emotions, for he then chuckled._

_“We both know that is not true,” she muttered. “None has ever been permitted to leave this prison, for your uncle fears betrayal blooming in every stranger. King Thingol may think I would eventually lead Doriath forces here.”_

_“You would not do that.”_

_“Are you sure?” Orodiel raised an eyebrow. “Even animals in this kingdom are treated better than me. I am a lowly servant to you. Why would the King himself hold interest in me?” she said in mocking voice. “Yet none of this is enough to reason otherwise unjustified attack on this kingdom. Besides, I am only a lost child missed by nobody – hardly a motive for war.”_

_A moment of silence preceded Maeglin’s outburst of laughter._

_\- - -_

_Her bruises quickly healed. Another spring arrived into the valley, although mountain peaks surrounding the city remained covered in thick snow, its drifts still reaching down. Orodiel counted eight years since she last saw the vast forests of Doriath, her home. She was sickened by this place; yet she had to become observant first, and notice the smallest details and disturbances in order to plan her escape. The gates were heavily guarded – which she found out with her very first glimpse towards them. Moreover, rumours had it there were seven gates separating Gondolin from the rest of Beleriand; so it was out of question to include that way into her quiet scheming. It seemed that the only path led over the mountains themselves which could be easily considered as suicidal in early spring when harsh winter still reigned the range._

_She could not attempt to disappear sooner than upon arrival of Nost-na-Lothion when her captors shifted their attention towards the festivities and ceased to pay her mind; and even then it was risky because she had not been given a chance to pack any supplies – the elves would certainly notice._

_Nonetheless, with utmost determination, she sneaked out in the evening, praying to Eru Allfather himself to help her find safe passage among treacherous mountain peaks, and to conceal her from keen sight of guards…_

_\- - -_

_Orodiel reached Doriath early in the morning, yet she encountered neither march-wardens nor messengers of Thingol and Melian. It took her few more days to reach Menegroth itself –_

_At first sight, the halls were deserted. No sound of horn announced her arrival. Nobody approached to either greet her or seize her. Although she had yet to discover about the Second Kinslaying, she did not dare to enter the Hidden Kingdom alone – as she had never done, for mostly her father or someone else had accompanied her on journeys to Thingol’s court. She hid in dense bushes on the opposite site for the oncoming night instead, watching the bridge leading over shallow ravine._

_Soft rustling of leaves suddenly stopped and was replaced by faint breathing which her keen senses still could register; the sun had not risen yet, the darkest hours of night still reigning over Beleriand._

_At first, panic seized her mind, for she was armed insufficiently – hardly at all – if stolen knife with blunt edges could count. Even though she had seen fallen men on her way, she had scarcely found courage to rob the dead of their weapons and armour. Simple necessity drove her to that once, and she almost got caught…_

_Armed with makeshift wooden spear, Orodiel was determined to fight._

_However, her potential opponent was not at sight. Could his presence be just her fantasy? A product of her imagination?_

_Definitely not._

_She found herself pinned to tree trunk after a moment of searching the shadows, and dark figure towered above her. “What brings a stray woman to Menegroth?” the stranger hissed, holding a dagger before her face threateningly. “How did you find it?” he barked impatiently when she did not answer._

_Yet she only stood there, saying nothing, and looked directly into his eyes, fearless of death by his hands – too many had threatened her life before to scare her now._

_“Looking for someone, huh? Sneaking through darkness to slit someone’s throat?” he teased in Sindarin, presuming she could not understand it because he did not care to take a better look at her. His grip tightened, though. “Are you aware of what we do to bandits?” His face was suddenly closer to her, and she could see clearly that he was an elf. He sniffed and muttered, “You are just a dirty weasel that has got lost in the woods, I bet. And you smell badly. Have you even bathed?”_

_“Nobody had time for that,” she shot back and thus revealed her knowledge of Elvish._

_After his initial shock, the ellon laughed. And as if he decided to keep her alive for now, he ordered her to follow him._

_\- - -_

_“What news in the Kingdom?” she asked, drying herself after quick bath in icy stream under watchful eyes of her captor who did not grant her any privacy. He had demonstrated what would happen should she try to escape earlier. And she caught a glimpse of two other wardens in hideouts nearby. When the tall ellon remained silent, she introduced herself finally. “I am Orodiel, daughter of Oropher and Lassiel. Do you perhaps know where to find them?”_

_“Liar. Their only daughter died years ago.”_

_“Nay. She was kidnapped, indeed, but did not die.” He just shrugged, so she continued boldly. “She was held captive in Gondolin –”_

_But before she could finish what she wanted to say, the ellon knocked her down into the stream until both of them were soaked. “Pray tell me, where is this mythical city you are talking about? Have your dirty lies not been enough thus far? Are you going to come up with more of them?” he growled, pinning her to the ground with his own body._

_Orodiel struggled for breath. “The fact you have never seen it does not mean I have imagined those eight years of suffering,” she hissed into his ear._

_He suddenly let go of her, as if something bit him. Another ellon from their company approached them swiftly._

_Yet she did not intend to stay silent from then on. “I could not but notice that Doriath has been deserted,” she changed topic while struggling to stand up._

_“Hmm.”_

_“What happened?”_

_“None of your business, stranger,” the newcomer growled, overhearing them._

_Neither had he scared her off. “There was no sign of massive orc attack coming from northern borders when I arrived to the woods,” she pressed on, “yet since wildlings are often led astray from their mountains, they could possibly pose a threat… However, they are incapable of planning an organized attack and would be easily repulsed by Thingol’s forces. Thus it must have come from within… Could it be… a rebellion perhaps?” Orodiel pondered._

_“You know nothing!” the ellon guarding her lost his temper._

_“A rebellion, indeed,” she paused to think for a moment. “A kinslaying.”_

_His furious reaction to that word confirmed her thoughts._

_“King Thingol is dead,” she whimpered almost inaudibly when she noticed a flicker of hatred in his eyes, and fell to her knees into the stream._

_A burning question arose: Which side were her current captors on?_

_\- - -_

_“If you really are who you claim yourself to be, my lady, then prove it,” another ellon yet unknown to her approached Orodiel that evening. Although they had learned that she was undoubtedly of elven descend, too, they left her tied to a nearby tree for night while their company sought shelter in abandoned talan used as watch outpost by march-wardens._

_“How?” she whispered, then turned her head in the company’s general direction. “They would not believe anything I would do, for they have already set their minds; and of their intents I know not.”_

_“A word had spread of her extraordinary healing touch, though,” he did not give up._

_“And exactly how should I demonstrate such a skill?” she laughed bitterly. Yet there was something to him, although she could not quite put her hand to it. Perhaps he believed her._

_And perhaps –_

_“Oi! Leave her! She is ours!” shouts reached their ears. Orodiel did not pay attention to the ellon standing in front of her momentarily, and when she turned to him again, a blade was shining in moonlight before her eyes. There were more shouts and rushing footsteps drawing nearer, but time suddenly stopped._ He is going to kill me, _she thought, awaiting the final slash or stab or whatever should it bring a quick death on its wings._

_But instead of final darkness, ropes restraining her movements loosened. She realized it as soon as first arrow whistled near her head._

_“Run!” he spurred her in unison with her instinct. And so she ran away swiftly, never stumbling over branches and fallen trees. But where to? This part of the realm felt unfamiliar to her._


	14. Sauron

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The War of the Ring does not avoid the Woodland Realm. The elves have to ride into the Battle Under the Trees to defeat their enemy who wants to rule over all of the Middle-Earth...

### Chapter fourteen: SAURON

Orodiel woke up with a start. She felt as if some unknown force had been holding her in the dream against her will; and although she tried to fight it, it only left her exhausted… It was like paralysis.

Did she see just an illusion or was someone standing in the dark corner of her bedchamber? It seemed as if changing shapes constantly; coldness creeped into the room, and darkness reached its icy fingers towards her feä. A malevolent voice carried to her ears words which she could not discern yet –

Until it shrieked in her head in crescendo.

The shadow finally settled on the shape of Necromancer –

He cast a dark spell upon her. Then he disappeared as if nobody was there a moment ago, and soft light reigned the chamber again.

Her heart was racing, its powerful beats resonating in her skull and reverberating through her whole body. Orodiel was scared speechless.

Sudden need for fresh air finally drove her out of bed and into secret passageway leading towards a well-hidden balcony – one of few that were actually leading _outside_ the massive caverns. A light breeze embraced her half-naked form immediately; yet the sun was invisible over the red canopies of Mirkwood, being hidden behind hideous blackness spreading from south-east. Its edge was almost reaching the realm; the Darkness long since swallowed larger portion of Rhovanion.

Borders of the woods were swarming with a mass of black orcs for days now, and many scouts brought reports about their advances. Large packs of them infiltrated Mirkwood ever drawing closer to southern borders of the Woodland Realm. They corrupted the forest, consumed remainders of Light that lingered in its parts. Soon, yet another world she knew would come to its end.

A vision entered her mind slowly: single arrow flying in her direction, trees burning, the woods dying. Orodiel gasped, knees weakened under her momentarily from ferocity of that possible future. She felt that the air slowly turned foul in her lungs with every breath she took.

Later, she would study Thranduil’s plan for what would seem to be hundredth time. They had agreed on dividing the vast forest into smaller territories which would be assigned to warden parties. Today, he would be choosing able captains to command each of those ranks. The battle was inevitable, and it was drawing nearer with every hour; however, elves did not know where Sauron’s forces would deliver their deathly blow first.

When she descended from her chambers to the throne room, someone was awaiting her.

“My lady Orodiel,” the wizard puffed absent-mindedly.

“Radagast the Brown,” she greeted him in elvish way, her eyes wandering towards his hair and beard soiled by crusted bird faeces. He looked weary. “What has led you into places where you are rarely seen if I may ask, _mellon_? What ill news do you bring? For as I recall, you have never been overly fond of underground places, preferring the forest instead.”

His eyes roved the hall. “My lady,” he said at last, “southern parts of Mirkwood are dying.”

“As I have seen earlier today, Radagast,” she nodded.

“Sauron’s creatures are advancing from two directions now since Dol Guldur has not been destroyed as planned. Even after his banishment, Orcs have kept it as their lair.”

The princess bid him to walk with her into adjacent council chambers. As they passed many guards, she told him: “We do not possess such powers to eradicate evil; I have told so the White Council many times. And although Saruman pledged to help us with the fortress many years after Lady Galadriel banished the Necromancer – Sauron – to the East, in light of his latest deeds I am not so sure that he ever intended to fulfil his promise.”

“I’m sorry to hear that one of my Order has lowered himself to serving such foul Master,” the wizard said pensively, never ceasing in stroking his beard.

“So are we all,” Orodiel sighed. “Shall we return to the business now?” she asked then, showing him into the room.

\- - -

“Carrock will be swarming with goblins soon, they’ll enter the forest there no doubt,” the wizard whispered urgently, bending over the map while studying it. Since council had left the chamber, nobody removed the marks labelling strategic outposts, line of defence and possible collision sites from it, so it was now on display for Radagast.

“I would like to see them try,” Orodiel turned to him impatiently.

He studied her for a moment with his dark blue eyes, clutching his staff, before he observed, “So you have casted a protective spell on those parts.” Then he mumbled more to himself as if scolding: “Why haven’t I noticed that?”

“Well, if by _protective_ you mean to protect them from us, then I believe so,” a small, almost eerie smile curved her lips.

Elves had not always been bearers of great good as many outsiders surely believed, and Orodiel was no exception, either. Although her capability of evil could be considered more profound, magic actually circulated in veins of many ancient elves.

When Radagast gave her a strange yet knowing look, she said albeit menacingly: “Evil things lurk in the shadows under our trees. Things that are darker than you would expect; and many of them do not come from Sauron.”

“I don’t doubt that, my lady,” he nodded. “But tell me: is that because Darkness has become rooted in your heart, too? I sense its lingering touch on you.”

“Perhaps.” But she said no more of it, although the wizard’s expression changed dramatically, now being dominated by worry. There could be no doubt of his ability to feel Sauron’s touch on the wood elf; however, he respected her unwillingness to discuss the topic, and did not ask further of her.

\- - -

With quiver filled, knives sharpened and hair fixed in thick braid to prevent them from falling into her eyes, Orodiel finally stood before her king, ready to accept his orders. She stopped her mount beside Thranduil’s elk; entire elven cavalry was now waiting for enemies to arrive to a clearing partly hidden under green canopies. Forest remained eerily silent around them; not a single song of birds could be heard.

“Your armour is insufficient, it will hardly protect you from them,” Thranduil stated, scrutinizing the lack of iron plates covering her form.

“I hate it,” she said. “It is restricting; I would not stand a chance should I be knocked off the saddle.” But then Orodiel’s eyes slid down to his breastplate and she shut up immediately.

Noticing it, he sneered. “It surely will not happen to such seasoned warrior as you are, little one.”

“Oh, shut up!” she growled under her breath. At first, it appeared as if she was throwing daggers on him with her eyes; but her look softened instantly. “I am not obliged to explain myself to you, after all,” she muttered with a grin. However, the king was not given a chance to retort something towards her, for the orcs showed up at last.

Well, first it was characteristic noise of stomping heavy feet and clattering steel that heralded their approach. Then it was their screech added to the rumble. Orcs of Dol Guldur also brought fire with them, which quickly consumed the forest, trees weakened by Darkness blazed with roaring light that was swallowing dried branches hungrily.

“Fire!” captains commanded in unison, and elven arrows quickly found their target.

Thus first kills of the Battle under the Trees were claimed.

\- - -

_Seemingly faraway sounds of raging battle were slowly getting even more distant, the reality slipping away from her grasp. She was desperately clinging to last bits of reality, blinded by almost unbearable pain flooding her entire body, yet even that was ebbing away. To die for freedom would be sacrifice she was more than willing to make – one death would be small price to pay after all. As a warrior she had to ready herself to possibility of facing Mandos anytime, yet nothing could prepare her for excruciation preceding the meeting of the Doomsman._

_At last, Valar were merciful to her for she finally slipped out of consciousness…_

\- - -

It was a horrid sight. With part of once pretty face charred, Orodiel looked as he probably once did. Thranduil was now sitting in uncomfortable chair next to the bed. Remaining beside her day and night now seemed to be his way of avoiding regal obligations that awaited him elsewhere. Although many came to him recently, plying him with issues which needed his attention, and thus pestering his mind further, the Elvenking did not leave the chamber.

“If only you could forgive me, Orodiel,” he whispered one evening, “for many wrongs that I have done to you.” He sighed heavily, his next words hard to vocalize. “I have always loved you beyond anything I have ever held dear in this world, yet many times I allowed my love to be clouded by judgement of others… Please, believe me, I have never wanted to drive you away from the forest!” he almost cried. “I have never wanted to push you away from me.”

Was there any chance his words of regret could penetrate the haze of nightmares that were currently embracing her? She was balancing on that thin borderline between Death and Life, and felt too tired to fight the Darkness anymore.

“I am so sorry I did not believe you…” Thranduil, now sobbing, buried his face in sheets beside her hand he was holding. Its initially ice cold touch was slowly becoming warmer with each hour. “Instead, I was listening to made-up lies of others willingly, blind to justice.”

He could not hear soft steps behind him…

“Always so strong, Orodiel, always so brave! So why are you leaving me now? Sauron’s attention has turned from Mirkwood; do not dare let him take you from me.”

“Adar.”

Soft but firm hand of his son landed on Thranduil’s rigid shoulder.

“Legolas?” broken king turned to him with disbelief written over his face. Only a few days passed since they returned from the battle, and not a single word of Fellowship or his son reached him. “But how – am I dreaming?” he whispered.

“She will return to us, ada,” Legolas mumbled with confidence resonating in his voice, not answering his father’s question.

“How can you be so sure? She believed in prediction that Peredhel told her years ago: that her life was bound with the One Ring, and thus she shall die once it is destroyed. But then, she yet may live forever,” he at last grimaced bitterly over the thought of Sauron winning the war over Middle-Earth. If so, would he and his people be granted enough time to leave?

But would he be able to leave when there remained nothing that would bind him to the world of living?

“My lord?” Feren entered the chamber uninvited.

Thranduil glanced around but his son was nowhere to be found. “Legolas?” he called.

Feren looked at his king with pity. None could tell whether their prince still lived; they had not seen him in a year. “My lord,” he addressed the Elvenking again with concern, “a messenger from Lórien has reached our gates.”

“But Legolas –”

“I am sorry, but prince has not returned yet,” Feren lowered his gaze.

Only then it seemed as if Thranduil’s senses returned. Bewilderment left his eyes which sparkled with recognition again. “Thank you. Show him into my private study, I shall join him there shortly.”

“As you wish.” Feren bowed and left.

\- - -

_He sighed heavily, finally rising from his knees, stiff from hours of kneeling beside her dead body. “Prepare her for burial,” Thranduil said then, his voice full of grief. He could not bear glancing towards her, for that sight would threaten his already aching heart to break at last._

_A few hours later, she would lie atop burial pyre, her body washed and dressed in finest clothes worth kings. Her bow and knives would lie on her sides, longsword clutched in her lifeless hands._

_Thranduil would watch her burn, last remnants of his beloved sister disappearing in flames. Only then he would bury his emotions deep within his heart, locking them behind the curtain of coldness, determined to not let joy seep into his life ever again. He would regard the world with cold reservation, never smiling, not rejoicing in the beauty of living –_

_“But I am alive! I am here!” Orodiel wanted to shout._

_She began fighting with the Darkness again._

\- - -

“Sauron has been finally defeated; the Darkness is leaving,” were the first exhilarating words that the king heard upon entering his study. Thranduil had to bite down some bitter retort at that moment, not quite believing Sindarin emissary sent by Lord Celeborn.

He remained silent for a while, eyeing the messenger with grim expression.

“But my lord, is it not joyful news?” The ellon was honestly confused by lack of emotion in the Elvenking’s face.

“It indeed is. Wine?” Thranduil reached for the decanter with thick Dorwinion he had lacked time to finish earlier, and poured the liquid into two cups, handing one to the stranger who accepted it with slightly shaking hands but did not taste it. “So, what news from Lothlórien do you bring at this hour?” he asked then.

“My lord Celeborn would like to meet with your highness over matters regarding the future of the Middle-Earth,” ellon stated matter-of-factly, handing sealed parchment to him.

Thranduil took it, and sat on his chair to read it briefly. “It can surely be arranged,” he mumbled, turning back to the messenger. “Please do tell your lord that I shall await him at the Stone Circle – he will know where it is.” He dismissed the Sinda then.

\- - -

On brink of the New Year, Celeborn met Thranduil in Mirkwood.

The Elvenking rode out into the open with his escort, and waited until a spotless white stallion emerged on the other side, bringing the Lord of Lórien who was followed by others shortly after. They gathered at the exactly same clearing where Oropher had once met with so-called Iauron, the unspoken leader of Silvan settlement which had broken away from Great Journey ages ago.

After the War of the Ring ended on both northern and southern battlefronts, Middle-Earth changed. Towards the end of conflict, Elessar was crowned King of Gondor which heralded a renewal of cooperation between Men, Elves, and Dwarves, marking the beginning of the Fourth Age.

The Woodland Realm changed too. Although majority of Sauron’s forces of Dol Guldur had marched to Lothlórien counting on support of Easterlings to overwhelm the elven army, and though that said support had never arrived due to its occupation in the battle of Dale, woods had been set alight and thus ruined. Still, elves came out victorious.

“It is time to restore my kingdom, _mellon nîn_ ,” Thranduil moved to the matter after a while of polite conversation. “The vast forests that once belonged under my father’s reign have become desolate over the centuries of oppression by the enemy. Shall we partake in its restitution, my lord?” He practically expressed an invitation.

“What are your conditions?”

“I intend to divide the forest realm among Limrond, Lórien and woodmen of foothills,” the king said.

“The skin-changers?” Celeborn sounded mildly surprised by Thranduil’s decision.

The other ellon nodded and continued, “Also, I intend to make Orodiel Oropheriell the Queen of Eryn Lasgalen. She shall take my seat, for it is her birth right.”

“But what about you, Thranduil?” the Lord of Lórien asked curiously, yet smiling knowingly. Of course Galadriel had indicated something before he left for Mirkwood –

“I have ruled these lands for three thousand years, _mellon_ , and now I am tired. The war has finally ended; it is past time I took the last journey West,” the king muttered. A memory of his late wife crept into his mind; although he often dismissed the belief that they would be reunited with their dead one day as silly – unlike his sister –, he secretly hoped to hold his wife in his arms again. The enemy was finally brought to his end, thus Thranduil deemed it fit to follow his people to the western shore. “Orodiel may stay here as long as she wishes, and reign Eryn Lasgalen justly,” he said after a moment, and made another pause in his speech before continuing uninterrupted. “Mountains of Emyn-nu-Fuin shall become borderline between our lands now, Celeborn,” he smirked. “By all means, do as you see fit with my gift to you, my lord; but consider that a settlement of quite few Silvans may still be scattered over that area.”

Celeborn nodded. “And permission for their stay shall be granted should those families wish to linger there.” He stopped momentarily to watch the king whose usually unreadable expression bore a hint of sourness within. “What were you thinking, Thranduil? That we would expel your people from their homes?” Celeborn asked gravely serious, pondering if the king really could forsake his own subjects that easily. “Our claim to East Lórien will never be forced.”

Thranduil grimaced, then apologized. “Since our kingdoms have been isolated from each other for centuries, I simply assumed… but I did not want to offend you, my lord.”

“Glad to hear that,” Celeborn muttered before he grinned.

The Elvenking changed the topic and returned to their previous dealings, then. “First of all, if you would allow me, I would gladly see Dol Guldur razed to the ground…”

\- - -

When Feren announced Thranduil’s arrival, Orodiel was making an effort to leave the bed. She claimed to feel better; and although still weakened, tried to get dressed in haste to greet the king returning from negotiations. And even though healers tried to restrain her, she could not be held prisoner in her chambers forever. The determination with which she felt her way to the throne room with just a stick, refusing any help, could be deemed stubborn, yet admirable.

“You look pale, sister,” he whispered to her ear while holding her in his embrace.

“That tends to happen when one is rejected by Mandos himself,” a sad smile appeared on Orodiel’s lips. Since she had lost her eyesight, it seemed that she succumbed to permanent melancholy. “He granted me a wish, though.”

“What wish?”


End file.
